


Spells of Interest

by CleverFangirl



Series: Spells of Interest [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Eventual Root/Shaw, Hogwarts AU, Multi, long fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-04-04 02:59:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 48,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4123333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleverFangirl/pseuds/CleverFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Reese and Sameen Shaw are the best Beaters the Gryffindor Quidditch team has had in a long time.  Everyone calls them the Mayhem Twins.  </p>
<p>Harold Finch is a fantastic Ravenclaw student, recently recovered from an "accident" that occurred last year, leaving him with a permanent limp and a suspicion of the magical activities taking place at Hogwarts. </p>
<p>Samantha Groves is a quiet Slytherin who goes by the name Root and occasionally sells her magical skills to the highest bidder.</p>
<p>Hogwarts has always been a dangerous place.  But sometimes those dangers don't come from the castle.  They come from the people inside it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hexed Broom

John inhaled deeply as he walked down to the Quidditch pitch, his broom held over his shoulder.  It was a beautiful day and he was thankful for it.  The weather over the last week had been rainy and cold and he’d been forced to spend several late nights huddled up by the fireplace in the Gryffindor Common Room trying to warm himself back up while struggling to finish his homework.  

But to have this weather on today of all days made all of the hardships of the past few weeks worth it.  It seemed as though Summer itself was making one last effort to see a game of Quidditch before Fall settled in completely.  

John didn’t smile, but he was definitely smirking as he entered the changing room.  To him, the weather sealed the deal for this match.  If it had been stormy and rainy, or worse, _windy_ , Slytherin might have stood a chance.  Garrison was a shrewd captain after all.  John was pretty sure he’d been hoping for less than ideal weather that he could somehow play to his advantage.  But with the weather like this, perfect and sunny with barely a breeze to be felt, John knew for sure that they would win.  

“Hey loser, you’re late,” someone said behind him, with only minimal hostility in the words.  

John turned around only to have a pile of red robes shoved in his face.  “Hello to you too, Shaw,” He said, still smirking.  

Shaw was already changed, holding her Beater’s bat loosely in her hand.  She rolled her eyes at him, “You’d better go get changed, John.  Simmons was ready to kill when you weren’t here for his pre-pregame speech.”  Shaw didn’t sound worried.  If anything she looked amused by the thought of their captain attempting to kill John.  

John shrugged, “I was busy.”

“Doing what, sleeping?”  Shaw countered.  

“We can’t all be machines, Shaw,” he replied.  But he put down his broom, picked up his Quidditch robes, and went to change all the same.  When he came back, Shaw had moved on and was now talking to Carter.  He picked up his own bat, grabbed his broom, and went to join them.  

“And be sure to watch your left goal,” Shaw was telling Carter.  “Harper Rose, you know, their new Chaser--she’s really good by the way--she likes to go for the left.”

“I can’t imagine how you would know that, Shaw,” Carter said, eyeing Shaw dubiously.  “Because last time I checked it was against the rules to spy on other teams while they’re practicing.”  

“Nothing wrong with listening to some rumors though, is there Carter?” John inserted smoothly.  “Anyways, don’t worry if you let the quaffle slip by you a couple times.  Apparently Terney’s still in the hospital wing after someone hexed him in the hall the other night.  Their backup seeker, I think his name’s Tao-”

“He’s _terrible_ ,” Shaw finished with a vicious grin.  

Carter sighed, “Please tell me you both didn’t go spying on the Slytherins last night.”  

Of course they had.  “Alright, I won’t tell you,” John said easily.  

“You guys _know_ I’m a prefect right?” Carter asked, putting a hand to her forehead.  She tried to appeal to John, “You know I’m supposed to report you for this kind of thing.”  

He nodded noncommittally, “You would, if there was any proof that we’d done it.”

“And we’re very good at not being seen,” Shaw added smugly.  

“I hope you three are discussing tactics over there,” barked a loud voice suddenly, making all three of them jump.  

Patrick Simmons walked over, his captain’s badge pinned proudly to his brilliantly red robes.  He looked at John, “Glad to see you could _finally_ make it.”  

John smiled and whirled his bat, “Ready to beat Bludgers whenever you need me, Simmons.”

Simmons glared, “We’re out on the pitch in fifteen minutes.”  Then he stalked away to go yell at their new Seeker, Laskey.  Small kid, but good on a broom.  He was only a second year, but John was pretty sure he wouldn’t mess up too badly.  

He could feel the anticipation of a match building up inside of him and took a couple calming breaths.  He was about to ask Shaw which of the Slytherin beaters she wanted to cover during the match, when suddenly someone burst into the changing room.

At first, John didn’t recognize the bespectacled young man in the Ravenclaw robes looking around almost frantically on the other side of the room.  And even when he did, he couldn’t quite believe it.  “Harold?” He said, far too low for the other boy to hear, of course.

But Shaw heard him just fine. “Harold?” She repeated, “Harold who?”  She took a second, and smirked.  “Oh, that Harold.  The, you haven’t talked to him for two years because I think you’re sometimes better at holding grudges than I am, Harold.”

Carter looked up curiously, but before John could glare at Shaw to shut her up, Simmons noticed that there was someone in his team’s room who was definitely not in their house.  

“JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING HERE?”  Roared their captain, stalking over to Harold.  Though Simmons was just a year older than Harold, he towered over the other boy like a giant.  

Harold was trembling and glancing around nervously, “I um-I-”

John would likely have been more than content to ignore the twinge in his conscience at the sight of Harold so uncomfortable and watch this entire exchange play out, when he felt Carter nudge him in the side.  He glanced over at her, she didn’t look impressed.  She nodded at Harold, and nudged him again, harder.  He frowned and shook his head.  He wasn’t going to _help_ Harold.  Now Carter was really glaring.  She turned to Shaw and held out her hand, silently asking for the Beater’s bat.  

Shaw raised her eyebrows and looked at John.  Then she smiled and handed the bat to Carter.  

“Woah, okay,” John said hastily and resentfully.  “Fine, I’ll go help him.”  He sighed and walked over to the entrance.  “Leave him alone, Simmons.  He’s here for me.”  

Both Simmons and Harold looked up at John’s approach, and honestly John couldn’t say who looked more surprised to hear his words.  Simmons recovered first and glared at him, “Reese, I know you think you’re a big shot, but we can’t have members of _other houses_ coming in and interrupting our pregame preparations.”

“I know that,” John said calmly.  “And I doubt Harold would be here unless it was really important, right?”  The last words were directed at Harold.  Whatever his reason for barging in right before a game, John sincerely hoped it was a good one.  Otherwise they’d both be dead.  

Harold nodded eagerly, “Yes, yes, very important.”  He took a deep breath, “I think one of you is in danger.  Someone hexed your broom.”  

John had to hand it to Harold, when he came up with a story, he went all out.  He wondered why Harold had really come in here, until he noticed how worried the Ravenclaw looked, how his eyes kept darting to the seven brooms in the room.  And suddenly he wondered if this wasn’t a lie at all.

Simmons was laughing, “Really?   _That’s_ your excuse?  We keep our brooms on us at all times.  When we’re not riding them, they’re locked in our dorms.  How could anyone get close enough them to hex one?”

Harold didn’t have an answer for that one, “I’m not sure, but if you’ll just-”

“We don’t have time for this,” Simmons spat, shoving Harold a little.  “Get out of here.  Stop wasting my team’s time.”

“Simmons,” John interrupted, hoping that he wasn’t going to regret this.  “Maybe he’s right.”

Simmons stopped and looked at John, incredulous.  “Have you left your broom unattended, Reese?”  

John shook his head firmly, “Definitely not.  But maybe someone found a way around it.  It wouldn’t hurt to ask for a delay so the ref can check our brooms.”  

Simmons was quiet for a moment, debating the outcomes of delaying the match against the possibility that one of his players might be riding a cursed broom.  Finally he spat out, “Fine.  But you’d better hope this isn’t for nothing.  I’ll go ask for the delay.  When I get back,” he pointed to Harold, “He’d better not be here.”  And with that, Simmons stalked out of the changing room.

Harold released a breath that John wondered if he knew he’d been holding.  He adjusted his glasses and looked up at John, “John, thank you-”

“We’ll talk later, Harold,” John said coolly.  “Right now, well, you heard Simmons.  You should probably go.”

“Right, yes, of course,” Harold said, nodding.  “I’ll just, go.  Um, good luck.”  He quickly turned and left the changing room, limping slightly.   

A few minutes later, Simmons walked in with Professor Control--who was refereeing today’s match.  They began going around the room, checking for hexes on each broom.  While they worked, Carter asked quietly, “John, why _don’t_ you talk to Harold?  If  I remember right, you guys were pretty tight our first and second years.  What happened?”

This time John _does_ have enough time to glare warningly at Shaw, who looks at him, smirks, and turns to Carter.  “In their third year, Harold found out that John’s girlfriend was cheating on him.  John didn’t take the news well.”

“Really?” Carter asked, “You ditched him over a girl?”

“A hot girl,” Shaw added not quite helpfully.  

“I had no reason to think Kara was cheating,” John said firmly.  

Shaw snorted, “Right.  Not until she dumped your ass for Mark Snow.”  

John was about to snap back with a scathing remark about Shaw’s love life, when a shout came from the other side of the changing room.  Laskey’s broom was glowing bright red, and bucking up and down violently.  The boy’s face went white as he stared at the broom, picturing himself riding it, several hundred feet in the air.  

Professor Control muttered a countercurse and the broom calmed down.  She turned to Simmons, “It seems your hunch was right, Simmons.  Good eye.  The rest of the brooms are clean.  As a precaution, I’ll have to go inspect the Slytherins’ brooms as well.  We’ll sound the bell when it’s time to enter the pitch.”

Simmons nodded as she left, “Thank you, Professor.”  

Carter rolled her eyes, “He sold this as his own find.”

“Of course he did,” John replied.  “If he was wrong, he’d just be looking out for the safety of his team.  Now that he’s right, he’s an even better captain.”  They waited together until they heard the sound of the bell.  John looked at both of them, “You guys ready for this?”

Carter grinned, “As I’ll ever be.”

Shaw slammed her bat into her open palm, “Let’s do this.”  

As they walked out onto the pitch, Shaw grabbed his sleeve and held him back a little bit so none of their teammates could hear. “John,” She said in a low voice that sounded both suspicious and worried.  “How did Harold know that one of our brooms had been hexed?”

“I don’t know, Shaw,” John replied as he mounted his broom.  “But I think I’m going to have to find out.”  


	2. The Map

Gryffindor won the Quidditch match.  Of course Gryffindor won the match.  Harold had known they would win the moment he’d found out one of their players had been targeted. What was curious, at least to Harold, was the Hexer’s choice of target.  Out of seven players, they had chosen the smallest, youngest player.  From the little Harold had bothered to understand about Quidditch, he knew that, though Laskey would have been able to score the most points, if someone had really wanted to cripple the Gryffindor team, they would have attacked Simmons or one of the other chasers, or Carter.  But Harold also guessed that if someone wanted to not only beat Gryffindor, but humiliate them completely, they would have hexed the most popular players on the team, the beaters.  Honestly, when Harold had discovered that someone on the Gryffindor team was in danger, he’d been worried about John.

But the perpetrator had gone after Laskey’s broom, and though the Seeker was important, his absence likely wouldn’t have cost Gryffindor the game.  Whoever had hexed his broom hadn’t been trying to sabotage the game completely, they’d just wanted to decrease the amount of points by which Gryffindor won.  Harold wondered if this whole incident had been inspired by some sort of betting scam.  

He could hear the sounds of the match even from where he sat in the library.  Through the few open windows, he heard every shout and cheer from the pitch.  Someone in the crowd had some sort of object that imitated a lion’s roar.  Very loudly.  Harold had been able to ignore it for the duration of the game.  But now that Gryffindor had clearly won, that lion wasn’t shutting up. Every few seconds or so it would let loose another roar, so loudly that a real lion might as well have been sitting right next to him.  Eventually, Harold had to perform a deafening charm on himself in order to get any work done.  He--like John--was in his fifth year now.  With O.W.L.s approaching, his professors were really cracking down.

Between the deafening charm, and his Defense Against the Dark Arts essay on the effectiveness of the body bind curse verses a stunning spell, Harold didn’t notice someone approaching him until they tapped him on the shoulder.  

Harold jumped, startled, and looked up to see John Reese standing next to him.  He was wearing his school robes, but his face was still flushed from the match, and Harold wondered if he’d run here right after they’d won.  He said something, but Harold realized he couldn’t hear him.

He quickly countered his deafening charm.  “I believe you’re missing the afterparty, John,” he said, turning his attention back to his essay.

John pulled up a chair next to him, his face calm and unreadable. “There will be other parties, Harold.  But first I have a couple questions for you.”

“What sort of questions?” Harold asked, still trying to look like he was devoting all of his attention to his parchment, even though he hadn’t written another word since John sat down.

“I think you know what sort of questions.”  He paused for a moment, waiting to see if Harold would say anything.  When Harold kept quiet, John finally asked, “How did you know about Laskey’s broom?”

“A lucky hunch,” Harold said a bit too quickly.

John raised his eyebrows, “Harold, I know we haven’t talked in a while.  But I can still tell when you’re lying.  And when you’re not telling me everything.”

Harold debated for a moment.  Despite their differences, Harold knew that John would understand what he’d been trying to do.  And maybe, he thought almost desperately, maybe if someone else knew, he wouldn’t feel so crazy.  

He took a deep breath, if he was going to explain this, he’d have to start at the beginning.  “Do you remember in our third year, after we’d-”  He hesitated.

“Stopped talking,” John finished for him.  

“Yes, well,” Harold coughed uncomfortably.  “Do you remember after that, towards the end of the year, the incident with Hanna Frey?”

John nodded, “That Hufflepuff girl in the year below us?  She had an accident, right?  Practicing a Banishing Charm, right?”

“That’s the story,” Harold said, nodding.  “The Charm apparently backfired spectacularly, killing her.”

“Apparently?”  John repeated, noting the skepticism in Harold’s tone, “You don’t think that’s what happened?”

“I had some doubts,” Harold admitted.  “A Banishing Charm isn’t taught until fourth year.  Hanna Frey was a second year, and a rather average student.  I doubt she would be spending time practicing such advanced charms.”

“You think someone else cast the charm that backfired?”  John asked quickly.  “You think someone else killed Hanna Frey?”

Harold nodded, “Yes, and if I could come to that conclusion, I wondered why the staff hadn’t.”

“Well did you ask them?”

“I tried to.  But each time I brought it up, they’d change the subject.  Apparently they didn’t want to talk about such a terrible incident.”  Harold frowned, “I’ve always known that the security at this school is... less than exceptional.  If you pack several hundred students learning magic in a castle together, accidents are bound to happen.  But if someone could get away with murdering a student and face no repercussions, I began to wonder what other sort of “accidents” that people could get away with without anyone noticing.  And then I wondered if there might be a way to predict when those incidents might occur.

“I had to talk to several teachers to get their opinions on different predicting charms and spells.  Professors Claypool and Ingram were very supportive of the idea, though they were positive that there was no piece of magic powerful enough to predict every harmful spell cast on the grounds, or even beyond.”  Harold began digging around in his backpack, pulling out a large divination textbook and flipping to a certain chapter.  “It took me almost all of last year to figure out what needed to be done.  I would have been finished sooner, but my own... incident prompted a severe delay in my schedule.  But  few weeks before finals last year I manage to create... this.”  He pulled out a piece of folded up parchment from the book and spread it out before them.

John looked at it curiously.  It appeared to be a map of the school and the grounds, showing all the floors and classrooms.  All four common rooms were listed, as well as each professor’s office, and even a bit of the Forbidden Forest.  “Harold,” John said in a low voice.  “What exactly am I looking at here?”

“At the moment, just a map of the school,” Harold replied briskly.  “But every once in a while, something else appears on it.  A name, or a time, in a specific location.  A warning, that someone is in danger.”  

“So it told you that someone in the Gryffindor changing room was in danger?”

“Yes, but it didn’t tell me who.  It just showed me the time that they would get hurt, and I realized that it must be taking place during the game.”  

“And that’s how you knew it was a broom,” John finished, nodding.  “This is impressive Harold.  But how does it work?”

“That’s a complicated question, John,” Finch said, folding the map up again.  “Tell me, what do you know about Horcruxes?”

John looked at the other boy, surprised, “Enough to know that _you_ shouldn’t know anything.”

Harold waved aside the concern and almost suspicion in John’s tone.  He’d had access to the Restricted Section since he was a first year.  He knew what a Horcrux was, but he’d never be foolish enough to actually make one.  But apparently John needed reassurance of that fact.  “I didn’t make one, but I based my spell off of the concept.  Instead of imprisoning a piece of a soul in an object, I bound together several spells and locked them together in a physical form.”

John nodded to the folded piece of parchment, “The map?”

But Harold shook his head, “A book.  An old volume I’m sure my father won’t miss.  I bound together a few divination spells, a shield charm, along with a few other sensing and protective spells, and tied them to the book.  I thought the end product would be a simple readout of who was in danger, but it became so much more.  It sees _everything_ John.  Everything that magic has touched.  It can sense the magical energy in the air.  It traces it, and tracks it, and it can predicts spells that are coming.  And it’s all accessible in the book.  I didn’t want that.  I’d never wanted that.  No one should have that kind of access and power.  So I hid it, on a hidden shelf in the Restricted Section where no one will find it. This map,” he said, tapping the parchment, “Is a page from the book.  This is what it was meant for.”

John nodded slowly and Harold stayed quiet, understanding that this was a lot to process.  “Have you told any of the professors about this?”

“No, and you can’t either,” Harold said quickly.  “No one’s ever performed a spell like this.  This sort of experimental magic is highly regulated by the ministry.  If anyone finds out what I’ve made, I’ll be expelled for sure and maybe even arrested.”

“You’re pretty confident that I won’t go telling your secret then,” John comments smoothly.  

Harold smirked, “Please John, even if I wasn’t positive that anyone else who knows about the map would likely get in as much trouble as I will, I know you’ll keep the secret.  You may have ended our friendship, but I still know you well enough to know that you wouldn’t want to stop something that will help so many people.  We’re both still idealists like that.”

“Right, Harold, about that,” John rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he struggled to piece together the words that had eluded him for two years.  “Look about the Kara thing, maybe I overreacted-”

“Don’t worry about it John,” Harold said mildly.  “I probably would have been just as angry if you’d try to tell me the same of Grace.”

John smiled as he felt a weight fall from him, “Yeah, how is Grace?  I don’t think I’ve seen her around the castle so far this year.”

“I would expect not, as she transferred,” Harold said, not meeting John’s eye.  “Her parents thought Beauxbatons would be a better fit for her.”

“Oh,” John felt his smile falter, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it was bound to happen sooner or later.  I always knew she was too good for me.  And if she’d stayed, she would have found out about the map eventually, and I wouldn’t have wanted her in that kind of potentially dangerous situation.”

“But you don’t mind putting me in that potentially dangerous situation,” John said somewhat teasingly.  

Harold looked over at him, unamused, “I know you can handle yourself, John.”

John smirked and nodded, that was definitely true.  “So,” He said, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair.  “Now that you have your map, what are you going to do with it?”

“Well,” Harold replied, taking the map and replacing it in the massive textbook.  “I’d been hoping to help people.  And now that you know about the map, I was wondering if you might like to assist me.”

John nodded, that seemed like a reasonable goal.  “I think,” He said, pulling Harold’s nearly completed essay towards him to read--and probably copy later.  “I like the sound of that.” 


	3. A Big Year

Carl Elias was enjoying a pleasant stroll through the Hogwarts grounds.  It was a beautiful evening, and the grounds were remarkably quiet after the match.  The Gryffindors had charged off to celebrate their victory, the Slytherins had slunk off to lick their resentful wounds, while the Hufflepuffs--along with his fellow Ravenclaws--had mostly gone to the Great Hall for dinner.  

But Elias wasn’t quite ready for dinner yet.  He liked to take quiet moments when he could to stop and breathe and think.  Especially after a... complication like the one that this Quidditch match had produced for him.  

As if on cue, a familiar figure approached his side as he walked to the Black Lake, falling in step with him.  

“Hello Elias,” Anthony Marconi said.  He too appeared to have stayed out after the match.  He was still in his robes, but his yellow tie was slightly loose around his neck.  As they walked, he tightened and straightened it.

“Anthony,” Elias responded by way of greeting.  He waved Anthony to follow him and they say down near the lake.  “What news?”

Anthony pulled out a small roll of parchment.  “The match wasn’t a total loss.  Gryffindor won by more than we’d been anticipating, naturally, but we still made a fair profit from the outright bets on Slytherin.”

Elias smiled, “Thank the founders for inspiring such fierce house pride.”  His tone took on a more serious tone as he continued, “Do we know how they found out about the hex?  I’d like to avoid a repeat of this situation.”

“From what I’ve heard,” Anthony replied.  “The Gryffindor captain was overcome with a sudden sense of unease and requested his team’s brooms be checked.  It might be just an unfortunate coincidence.”  He’d likely spent much of the match surreptitiously attempting to determine the answer for sure.  

“It _might_ be,” Elias agreed slowly.  “But it also might not be.  We’ll have to be careful, keep a close eye on who knows about our business.  You’ve enchanted all the orders and papers being signed, yes?”

Anthony nodded, “Anyone who breaks their vow of silence regarding our business enterprises will be cursed most unpleasantly.”

“Excellent,” Elias said, turning his gaze to the Giant Squid lazily pulling laps around the lake.  “Now, what of our other business enterprises?  How are they faring?”

Anthony checked his parchment again, “We’ve got a few more orders for potions, mostly focus-inducing, or else love potions.  I’ve got our best divination and arithmancy students working on predicting who will win the next Quidditch match so we can open the betting.  And we have some new duel requests.  Most of them I’ve already approved but there was one I wanted to double check with you.”

“Who would that be?”  Elias asked curiously.  Normally Anthony didn’t bother him with their client list.  Anthony had excellent judge of character, and Elias trusted him.

“Denton Weeks, Slytherin fifth year,” Anthony replied, only slight annoyance in his tone.  “He’s requesting a duel with Harold Finch.”

Elias looked up, surprised, “I thought Weeks had settled his grudge against Finch.  That unfortunate accident that happened to Finch last year must have been punishment enough for whatever insult Weeks had perceived against himself.”  Elias had no doubt that whatever Finch had done to inspire Weeks’ spite, it had been unintentional.  Finch was in his house, and Elias found he somewhat liked the young man.  If his morals hadn’t been so obviously straight and narrow, Elias probably would have attempted to bring him into the folds of his business.  He could use a brilliant mind like that.

Anthony nodded, “One would think.  But apparently Harold beat him on their first Transfiguration exam this year, and Weeks wants to teach him a lesson.  He wants to fight him in person this time.”

“Weeks could do with learning some lessons,” Elias muttered.  “He’s too aggressive.  Especially after last year’s incident.”  Harold had been in the Hospital Wing for nearly two weeks after the curse had hit him.  “Tell him to wait.  Try a little patience, and if he can keep a low profile for a while we’ll talk about arranging his duel.”

Anthony nodded and made a note on his parchment.  

Elias let out a deep, contented sigh.  “This is going to be a big year, Anthony.  I can feel it.”


	4. Mayhem Twins

“Open your textbooks to page one hundred twenty three.  I hope you all had a good weekend, because this spell will likely require all of your attention and focus.”

Root fought down the urge to groan as she settled farther back into her seat.  She was sitting in the back of the Transfiguration classroom, but Professor Control’s voice carried so well, she might as well have been sitting in the front row.  

Professor Control was a fierce woman.  She’d been the Transfiguration Professor for as long as Root had been at this school, and maybe a few years longer.  Every student at Hogwarts had silently agreed that she was the most terrifying teacher they had.  Rumors about her were constantly whispered by the older students to the younger ones.  The most commonly debated fact about her was whether or not her real name was Control.  Most students were convinced that she’d been an Auror at one point.  And maybe she still was working for the Ministry, inspecting the students at Hogwarts and making recommendations for the Auror task forces.

Root wasn’t sure if she believed any of these rumors to be true.  Most days Professor Control looked just like an average, albeit somewhat severe, middle-aged mother figure.  But on other days when someone wasn’t paying proper attention in class, she did look like she could take down an army of dark wizards without breaking a sweat.  

True or not, Root decided, these rumors helped Professor Control maintain a level of order in her classroom that was unparalleled by any other professor.  All around her, her fellow Slytherin third years were scrambling to pull out parchment and quills for the notes they would assuredly be taking momentarily.   

“Now, if you actually _did_ the reading I assigned last class, you’ll know what we are going to begin learning today,” Professor Control said severely, gazing coldly at her class.  

Looking around, Root could tell exactly who had done the reading and who hadn’t.  Those who knew what was coming were nodding in agreement and preparing themselves for the challenge.  Those who were clueless looked utterly terrified.  Root smirked, they _should_ be scared.  

She’d done the reading, of course.  But she hadn’t exactly followed Professor Control’s timetable when doing so.  Today the class was going to learn how to transfigure a teapot into a tortoise.

Root had mastered that spell halfway through her first year.  

“Pst, hey Leon.”  Martine Rousseau whispered from the desk in front of Root’s.  “I heard you managed to get your ass onto the pitch this weekend.”

Leon Tao, a few seats to Martine’s left, glanced apprehensively at Professor Control--who had begun her lecture, and was now drawing a complex diagram on the chalkboard--before responding, “Yeah I did.  Weren’t you there-?”

“I _heard_ ,” Martine repeated, interrupting him.  “But I couldn’t confirm it because no one on the pitch actually saw you.”  

Root almost grimaced at the weak insult.  But next to her, Harper Rose snickered.  “Well who can blame them for being distracted from Little Leon when the Mayhem Twins were on the pitch?”

“ _Mayhem Twins_ ,” Martine repeated scathingly.  “Please.  You know they’re _not_ twins.  Shaw is in our year.  Besides, they’re not even siblings.”

“Really?”  Harper asked, interested.  “I didn’t think they looked alike at all.”

“Of course not,” Martine said arrogantly.  “Shaw’s adopted, that’s why she has the different last name.  From what I hear, her family all died when she was seven.  My mom said she read about it in the papers when it happened.  Some kind of wild animal attack.  She was the only one to survive.  That’s probably why she’s so weird.  Do you remember last week in Care of Magical Creatures?  When the Professor told us that Hippogriffs can easily tear you limb from limb if you even _slightly_ insult them, she _laughed_.”

“Oh yeah I do remember that,” Harper muttered.  “Well, weird or not, you can’t deny that she’s good.  Both of them are.  I hear that scouts for professional teams are planning on coming and watching both of them play later in the year.  Can you believe it?  He’s a fifth year, and she’s a third, and they’re already being scouted.  Meanwhile, I can’t even get on our team until the seventh year Chasers leave.”

Root rolled her eyes.  She’d never understand everyone’s fascination with Quidditch.  It was just a lot of flying and throwing things.  There was nothing clever about it, and the snitch was such a wild card that half of the time the rest of the players didn’t even matter.  

“Rousseau!  Rose!”  Professor Control barked suddenly, making both girls jump and whip their heads back towards the front of the classroom.  Control was glaring at both of them, “Would you mind telling me what I just said?”

Both girls stuttered for a moment before the Professor motioned for them to be silent.  “Apparently, since you both already know how to transfigure a teapot into a tortoise, you’d be happy to write me a paper about the complicated process, due on my desk next class period.  One roll of parchment each.”  Martine opened her mouth to argue, then thought better of it and just scowled down at her desk.  

Root smirked.  

Harper noticed.  “Something funny, Groves?” She snarled under her breath.

Root forced her face to quickly return to impassive as she glanced over at Harper, “Of course not, Rose.”

Now Harper smirked, “That’s right.”  She turned her attention back to the chalkboards, scrawling down everything she could copy that would help her cobble together a whole roll of parchment worth of explanation.  

“Whatever you say,” Root whispered, dipping her own quill in her ink.  There was no point in picking a fight with Harper.  She was a loud person and any confrontation would likely attract attention to both of them, and if there was one thing Root didn’t want in her life it was attention.  Particularly attention directed towards her.  

Halfway through the lecture, Professor Control informed them that next class they would be expected to at least attempt this spell, though she doubted that more than a handful of them would actually accomplish the task.  

Root sighed and stopped taking her notes, instead starting some mental calculations.  This was increasingly becoming the hardest aspect of her classes these days; measuring how much she needed fail in order to appear average.  Professor Control had continuously warned them that this spell was going to be challenging so she wondered if she should even completely get to the tortoise.  At the very least the tortoise would need to keep the teapot’s pattern.  She might have to practice this one a few times before the next class.

She hadn’t always taken this much care to appear average.  In fact, for the first half of her first year, she’d been top of the class.  But then Hanna had... Then suddenly being smart wasn’t that important to her.  Her test scores had dropped suddenly and severely.  At first, the professors had attributed it to Hanna’s passing, after all everyone knew that the two girls had been close, despite Hanna being a year older.  But as time passed, Root’s scores hadn’t improved at all.  In fact, they’d remained determinedly average, and though a few professors had tried to talk to her about it, Root maintained that she was indeed trying her best, it just didn’t come as easily anymore.  

She wasn’t lying when she said she was trying her best.  She still put a large amount of effort into her education, just not in class anymore.  She was still learning, just on her own.  At first she’d tried to do her reading and practicing in her dorm room.  But between Martine and Harper, she barely had a free moment to herself without them trying to nose into her business.  The Common Room hadn’t been much better, too many people who would get too curious about a second year studying patronus charms.  

So Root had taken to the castle.  Nearly every night she snuck out and wandered the halls with a book in tow, exploring until she found a suitably abandoned corner where she could read and practice in peace.  By this point, Root was confident she knew every secret passage, hidden door, trick staircase, and password in the castle.  Sometimes a helpful ghost would stop by and offer assistance, or else warn her that a prefect on patrol was coming, but most nights she spent alone.  She was more confident these days that she wouldn’t get caught, since she’d started practicing nonverbal spells.  She wasn’t very good at them yet, but she could manage to perform a couple simple spells without saying their incantations.

Professor Control was still lecturing.  “Now this is the most important part of the process-”

Root completely tuned her out and turned her attention back to the parchment on her desk.  She was trying to determine if it was possible to combine the Full Body-Bind Curse and the Jelly-Legs Jinx into one new hex.  She thought it was possible and she greatly looked forward to testing it.  She grinned at the thought, those effects combined were guaranteed to be hilarious.  


	5. A Name

John told himself that he was going to the library to get a book for Potions.  After all, Professor Ingram had warned them about the Strengthening Solution they would be mixing soon, and he had recommended reading up on it before class.  But that didn’t change the fact that the moment John entered the library, his eyes quickly scanned the tables and desks strewn about, searching for a Ravenclaw boy with glasses.

It didn’t take him long to spot Harold.  And though he did force himself to go grab the Potions book he needed first, a Strengthening Solution was the last thing on his mind when he saw what Harold was doing.

The other boy was reading a thick, dusty, Divination volume, taking notes on a spare bit of parchment.  But what was most interesting was the piece of parchment Harold had tucked under the massive book.  It wasn’t completely hidden, and John recognized the map when he saw it.  

“Keeping an eye out?” John asked mildly, sitting down next to Harold.  

Harold jumped, but not as severely as the first time John had snuck up on him while he was studying.  “Oh, hello John,” He said, turning back to his paper.  “Yes, I do try to keep watch when I can.  You never know when something unpleasant might happen.”  

“So this is what you do all the time now?  Just wait for the map to tell you who to save?”

Harold flipped a page in the book, “Actually, John, I am attempting to finish my homework.  I don’t suppose the concept has crossed your mind, lately.”

John shrugged.  “I considered it,” He said, gesturing to the still firmly shut Potions book.  

“Getting a head start on that Strengthening Solution, I see,” Harold commented dubiously.  “Well if you’re still having problems with it after I finish this series of predictions, I’ll see if... I can... help...” Harold’s voice trailed off as his eyes turned back to the map.  After a moment he twitched the parchment so that the entire map was visible.

John watched silently as an invisible hand wrote out, in an elegant script, in bright blue ink that contrasted with the black of the rest of the map, a single name.  

“‘Denton Weeks’?” John read curiously.  

Harold didn’t look too happy to hear the name, but he was already closing the Divination text.  “It says he’s in one of the hallways on the first floor.  And there’s no timestamp so it’s likely going to happen soon.”  He folded the map back up and placed it and the rest of his work into his pack.

When Harold stood, John did too.  Harold looked at him curiously, but John just held out his hand for Harold’s obviously heavy pack.  “You don’t think I’m going to miss out all the fun, do you?”

Harold hesitated for a second, then handed his bag to John, making sure to keep his wand on him.  

John, too, walked with his wand held loosely at his side, leading the way from the library down to the West hallway on the first floor.  “Do you know who’s going to attack Weeks?”

“I only know as much as you do, John,” Harold replied, working to keep up with John’s brisk pace.  “The map doesn’t give much, but it gives enough if we work quickly.”

“Just how many of these attacks have you managed to stop?”  John asked, adjusting his pace somewhat when he noticed just how much Harold was struggling.  

Harold didn’t respond for a moment as the concentrated on skipping the trick step on the staircase they were going down.  Finally he said, “A few, but not as many as I’ve been given, I’m afraid.”  The guilt is obvious in his tone.  

“Well,” John replied with an edge of determination.  “Let’s hope two heads are better than one.”  And with that, they rounded the corner into the hall that they were looking for.  

Despite the busy hall--apparently several classes were being released at this time--it didn’t take them long to spot Denton Weeks.  He was tall for a fifth year, and his pompous, nasally voice carried well over the crowd.  He appeared to be complaining loudly about something to anyone who would listen.  The moment he saw Harold in the crowd, his eyes narrowed.  “Well look who it is,” He sneered across the hall.  “Smart-Glasses-Harold, no doubt on his way to ace another test.”  

“Hello Denton,” Harold replied with forced calm.  “How are you?”

“Oh I’m great, fine, fantastic, really,” Weeks responded, his voice dripping with insincerity.  “I just finished taking that Charms test Professor Claypool warned us would likely be as hard as the first section of the O.W.L.s.  I think I did pretty well, but you’ll probably do better since Claypool loves you so much.  He probably just gives you the answers, favors his own house favorites over all us hard working students.”

“I study just as hard as everyone else, Denton,” Harold replied, surprised at Weeks’ open hostility.  “None of the professors play favorites, you know that.  If they did, you’d have a better Transfiguration grade than me.”  

John almost winced as Harold spoke.  These were probably not the most calming things to be telling Weeks.  He kept his eyes on the sea of students still milling about them, looking for any potential threats.  No one seemed to be paying them much attention though except for a few annoyed glances shot at them for standing in the middle of the hallway.  

“Well maybe you’ve just got all the teachers on your side,” Weeks suggested menacingly, taking a step towards Harold.

That’s when John intervened, stepping quickly between them both.  “I hope we’re not going to have a problem here, Denton,” he said calmly, not trying to hide the wand in his hand.  

Weeks took one look at John’s wand, then at John himself.  Quickly recognizing the famed Beater, well known for his affinity for Defense Against the Dark Arts, Weeks seemed to think better of the situation.  He stepped back, glaring at both of them.  “This isn’t over,” He muttered, before stalking off, nearly running over one of the Slytherin girls in the crowd.  

John quickly went to help the girl pick up her books.  “Hey, are you okay?” He asked kindly.

She looked a little flustered, but otherwise undamaged.  She smiled as he handed her her Transfiguration textbook, “Oh yes, I’m fine.  I just wasn’t watching-”

“No, I’m pretty sure it was his fault,” John said, glaring after Weeks.  

The girl followed his gaze and nodded, “You’re probably right.”  She was younger than him, probably around Shaw’s age.  She was kind of cute, with big brown eyes and brown hair that curled loosely around her face.  He couldn’t remember seeing her around the school before, but then again, there were a lot of students at Hogwarts.  She clutched her books a bit tighter to her chest, “Well, thank you very much, but I should get going.”  She too, disappeared into the crowd before John could say anything else.  

John turned back to Harold, who had ducked into a corner where there were less people, “So was that it?  Did we stop the attack?”

Harold opened up his bag that John was still carrying and pulled out the map, “Apparently so, though I’m not sure what exactly we did.  His name is no longer listed on here.”

“Well maybe just our presence was enough to stop someone from attacking Weeks,” He suggested confidently.

“Perhaps,” Harold agreed slowly.  He looked over the map again, apparently checking to see if a new name had been written somewhere else.  When he determined it was clean, he placed it back in his bag.  “But I’m not sure this is the last we’ll hear from Denton Weeks.”  


	6. Quidditch Practice

Shaw loved flying.  Some days she felt like she _lived_ for the time she spent on her broom.  She knew other people, particularly other Quidditch players, would say they felt the same.  They’d say they loved the wind in their hair, or the feeling of freedom they found on a broomstick.  

That wasn’t why Shaw loved it.  

Shaw loved flying for the danger.  She revelled in the thrill of knowing that the only thing standing between her and the ground was several hundred feet of air, and a thin stick of wood.  She lived to see how fast she could push her broom to fly.   And flying for _Quidditch_ just added another layer of excitement.  The madness, the mayhem, everyone flying in different directions, working towards their own goals, but still acting as a cohesive team, it was the closest Shaw could come to perfection.  

Tonight, Simmons had them working in a scrimmage setting--except Laskey, who had been given the task of practicing his dives.  The three Chasers were trying to score against Carter, while the Beaters split up, one guarding the team, the other attacking.  John and Shaw always argued over who was going to play the “enemy” Beater.  Shaw always won.  

She ducked around the Bludger John sent shooting towards her face, swinging her bat up just in time to send it hurtling back towards Simmons.  She caught the second Bludger as it sped at her, knocking it towards the goal hoops. John didn't have time to stop both, and he barely hesitated before racing after the Bludger aimed at Carter. He managed to alter its course and save their Keeper, but Simmons was forced to dodge the other speeding Bludger himself. And he wasn't happy about it.

“Hey!”  He shouted, trying to steady himself on his broom and nearly dropping the Quaffle in the process.  “Watch it, Shaw!”  

“You’re the one who wanted to play this like a real match, Simmons!  It's not my fault John wasn't fast enough!”  Shaw shouted back, wondering if he could see her smug grin from across the pitch.  

Apparently he could.  And he wasn’t impressed.  “You think you’re some sort of hot shot, Shaw?” He shouted, halting practice and flying over.  

Shaw raised her eyebrows, “No, but I’m good.  I thought that’s what you wanted us to be.  Besides, John made the right choice, protecting our one Keeper rather than one of three Chasers."  John shot her a look that clearly said, _Hey don’t drag me into this._

“You think you know what's best for the team?”  Simmons narrowed his eyes, “Well, if you think you’re too good for practice, I guess you can spend the rest of our time on the pitch flying fifty laps.”

“What?!”

“Go.”  Simmons’s tone made it clear that arguing would just get her into more trouble.  She ignored the small smirk on John’s face and flew off to the edge of the pitch, glowering dangerously.  

“Reese,” even across the pitch she could tell that Simmons wasn't happy with John’s choice of priorities.  “Since we’re now short one Beater, you can go help Laskey with his dives.”  

That lightened Shaw’s mood somewhat.  Laskey was a good Seeker by nature, but trying to teach him anything he didn’t innately understand was like trying to teach a Hippogriff the hula.  And watching John deal with that kid was so entertaining that Shaw wasn’t even mad about the laps.  Or at least, she wasn’t as mad.  

Around her thirtieth lap, Shaw looked over and saw clearly on John’s face that he was working hard to resist the urge to strangle the kid.  He made eye contact with her, pleading with her to finish her laps quickly so they could get back to being Beaters.  Shaw just looked at him smugly and slowed down to a pace that was genuinely insulting to her Lightningbolt broomstick.  

John’s dad had bought her the broom for Christmas last year.  Being a Muggle, he didn’t always understand wizarding customs--his wife tended to handle most of the magical issues in their household and their business--but he did try.  Mr. Reese knew how important Quidditch was to both of the kids and had offered to buy them each the broomstick of their choice.  John had opted for the more manageable, sturdier Nimbus 3000, but Shaw hadn’t even needed to think before she’d demanded the top of the line,  Lightningbolt racing broom--from the same line that had produced the Firebolt, the Hydrobolt, and the Thunderbolt in previous years--a broom so fast, they said it could fly at the speed of light.

Shaw knew that her broom wasn’t actually as fast as lightning, but sometimes, out on the pitch, it felt that way.  Now she was chafing at the pace she’d set for herself.  Every inch of her was screaming to go faster.  But her need to punish John for laughing at her was--currently--greater than her need for speed.  Instead, she turned her attention to the rest of the team’s practice.

The Chasers were practicing a complicated new formation, and Carter was weaving in between her hoops, waiting for them to approach her.  Carter was a good Keeper, Shaw had no qualms admitting it.  Some of her moves were fantastic.  And the fact that she could keep up with practice, along with starting preparations for her O.W.L.s _and_ being a Prefect was just incredibly impressive.

Plus she was hot. Like, really hot. Like, if she wasn't so obviously into John, Shaw probably would have made a move by now.

Still, she hoped John caught on to Carter's interest soon. Carter may be infatuated, but she wouldn't wait forever. Shaw was sure they'd make a nice couple. Besides, it'd be good for John to have a girl in his life in a way that didn't involve cheating or pining for once.

His revelation about Kara has hit him hard in Shaw's first year.  When Kara left him, he cut himself off.  He ended his best friendship, didn’t talk to anyone for a few weeks until Shaw barged into his dorm, smacked him across the face, and told him to get his shit together because life sucks but he had a game next week so he’d better get out onto the pitch and practice.  It had taken some time, but he’d finally worked through it.  But she knew that that was still nothing compared to their neighbor, Jessica.

She lived across the street from them back home. She was a muggle, but she and John had known each other “for forever” and they knew that they would “stay friends always” even though it was clear to everyone except them that they both clearly had those cute little kid crushes on each other.  It had taken Shaw two years to figure out that John was completely oblivious to the fact that Jessica had a crush on him, and by the time she convinced him it was true, he was getting ready to go to Hogwarts.  He hadn’t wanted to tell her he liked her and then leave, so he kept quiet and went off.

By the time John had come back for the Summer, Jessica had made a new friend, Peter Arndt.  John had taken Peter’s presence as a personal insult and instantly began avoiding Jessica whenever he could.  By that point, Shaw had given up.  She’d already put more effort into helping John than she would have for anyone else and if he wanted to ignore the facts, that wasn’t her problem.

Still, Jessica been the first non family member that John had introduced Shaw to when she’d first moved in.  And though Shaw had learned to tolerate her, at that meeting, Shaw hadn't gotten along well with her. But then again, she hadn't really gotten along well with anybody then.

The time after the attack on her family had been an adjustment period. So many things had changed very quickly for her and it had taken her a lot of time to acclimate. The Reeses did everything they could to assist her. They never forced her to call them Mom or Dad.  They let her keep her own name. They respected her heritage and did their best to help her continue to practice her own family's traditions. They offered to get rid of the family dog on the grounds that it might make her uncomfortable, considering what had happened.  Shaw had refused to let them do so--Bear was the best dog in the world and she knew it--but the spirit behind the offer hadn’t been missed by her.  When her letter from Hogwarts had come, they'd worked with her and the school to make sure everything would work out smoothly.

She wouldn't be here without the Reeses. She knew that.  And she appreciated it even, on her good days. John and his parents were the only people in the world whose death she thought she might be somewhat troubled by.

Shaw was startled from her thoughts by a sudden shout of “NOW!” from Simmons.  

At the command, all three Chasers took off towards Carter’s hoops, passing the Quaffle so fast between them it looked more like a red blur than a ball.  Carter watched them approach, tense and ready to move.  The Chasers looked like they were gearing towards her left hoop, but she stayed centered, her broom hovering left and right just a bit.  Finally, when it looked like all three Chasers were about to crash into the goals, they broke off, veering left, right, or straight up.  And Simmons threw the Quaffle at the right hoop.  

Shaw felt herself slow to a stop as she watched Carter reach for the Quaffle.  It was too far from her, she’d never make it.  She was already leaning dangerously off of her broom.  But with an extra reach, Carter caught the red ball in her hands.  Only to have her body begin to twist down as she failed to regain her balance on her broom.

Shaw was ready to fly over and catch Carter in an instant, but before she could, she saw Carter’s weight shift and her legs tighten around her broom handle as she used the velocity of her downward motion to flip herself right back up around on the other side of her broom.  She took a moment to steady herself, then grinned at her teammates, holding the Quaffle proudly.  

Simmons looked so proud he didn’t even appear annoyed that their tricky tactic hadn’t worked.  He was about to say something when suddenly a loud _whump_ thudded through the air.

Turning around, everyone saw John, on the ground, his broom lying next to him, and his face was somewhat bloody.

Quickly, the entire team landed next to him.  “What happened?” Shaw demanded angrily, glaring at Laskey.

Laskey--wisely--took a few hurried steps back, “I didn’t do anything, he just didn’t pull out of the dive quick enough.”

That definitely didn’t sound like John.  He _loved_ diving, and he was good at it.  There was no way he’d mess up the easy ones he was teaching Laskey.  Unless...

Shaw glanced back at Carter, who had pulled out her wand and was helping stem the flow of blood from John’s nose.  She shook her head.  He’d been watching Carter, too.  Hadn’t even noticed how close to the ground he was getting.

Idiot.  

She looked at Simmons, “Does this mean practice is over?”  There wasn’t any eagerness in her voice.  If Shaw had her way, she’d spend all night on the pitch.  But she had a Charms assignment due tomorrow and the logical part of her mind was telling her that she should probably start working on that tonight.  

Simmons nodded reluctantly, “I guess so.  We got through the maneuvers I wanted to learn tonight.  Good job, team.  And be more careful next time, Reese.  I’ll see you all next practice.”  With that, he walked off with Laskey and the other Chasers.  

After a moment’s hesitation, Shaw hung back to help John and Carter.  

“Here Joss,” She said, reaching out for John’s hand to help him up.  

She and Carter pulled John to his feet, and he stood there unsteadily for a moment before saying, “Thanks ladies.”

Carter nodded, “No problem, John.  You sure you’re okay?  We should probably take you to the Hospital Wing.”  She didn’t sound too enthusiastic about the idea.  No doubt she had her own massive pile of homework waiting for her back in the castle.

“I’ll take care of him,” Shaw jumped in quickly.  “Go on ahead.”  

Carter glanced between them, hesitating, before eventually nodding, “Okay.  Thanks Shaw.”  She grabbed her broom and walked off.

The moment she was out of earshot, John turned to Shaw, “I’m _not_ going to the Hospital Wing.”

“Of course you’re not,” Shaw replied, handing him back his broom in a manner that just so happened to slam his stomach forcefully with the handle.  “This is your own fault, dumbass.  I’m not wasting my time waiting for a nurse to tell you you fell and hurt your nose but now you’re fine.”

John winced as he took his broom for her, but seemed relieved all the same as they started walking back to the changing room.  

“But really John,” Shaw couldn’t help but add with a knowing smirk.  “Take it from me, there are easier ways to get a girl to notice you.”

John sputtered, but before he could actually say anything, Shaw had rolled her eyes and mounted her broom again.  He could get back to the Common Room on his own if he was going to be so completely in denial.  She could still feel her need to fly humming through her.  More than that, she needed to _race_ , to bolt, to see how far she could push her broom, and then step right over that limit and see what happens.  

Sure, she had Charms homework due tomorrow, but Professor Claypool was so scatterbrained he’d probably forget he’d assigned anything at all.  Even if he _did_ remember, it was just one assignment.  It wouldn’t affect her grade too badly.  And for some more flying tonight, it was a risk Shaw was more than willing to take.  


	7. Goal Oriented

Patrick Simmons walked through the halls of the castle with a single purpose.  He was a goal-oriented person, never liked to leave a task unaccomplished.  And right now he had a very specific task in mind.  

He’d heard some students talking a few weeks ago about a seventh year who’d kicked them out of the Astronomy Tower to “study”.  After checking around a bit, he discovered that several study groups in that tower had been interrupted at the same time every couple evenings nearly all year.  As far as he could tell, there was no pattern to these meetings, but he went to check the Astronomy Tower every night all the same.

And tonight was to be no exception.  

He made sure to appear as though he was in no hurry as he climbed the stairs.  He was eager for his trek to prove fruitful, but he knew it would be a mistake to portray himself as anything but completely collected.  There were no slip ups allowed in the game he intended to play.  

As he arrived at the top few steps of the tower, he adjusted the strap on his bag and took a deep breath.  For the first time since he’d begun these ventures, there was someone standing outside the classroom door.  He was a large student, probably a fifth or sixth year.  Simmons wasn’t sure what house he was in, he was too focused on the death stare the other student was shooting at him.  

“This classroom is taken for the night,” He said in a deep voice.  “Go study somewhere else.”

Simmons nodded respectfully, “I would.  But you see, I’d really like to have a word with whoever’s in that classroom.  And if they are who I think they are, they’re going to want to talk to me, too.”  He kept his tone confident and his face calm as the door guard looked him up and down.  His wand felt heavy in his pocket and part of him itched to whip it out and just curse this guy to get him out of the way.  Instead he took a calming deep breath.  He needed to play by the rules right now.  His time would come.  

After a long silence, the door guard finally grunted, “Wait here.”  He opened the door and ducked inside.  Simmons resisted the urge to press his ear up against the door and instead stayed right where he was.  This far from the door, he could hear murmurings coming from inside the classroom, but couldn’t make out any words.  

The voices went quiet and a moment later the door opened again.  The guard didn’t look very impressed, but he nodded into the classroom, “You can go in.”

Simmons nodded in thanks to him as he entered.  The moment he crossed the threshold, he quickly scanned the room.  

There were only two students inside, as he’d expected.  

Carl Elias and Anthony Marconi were talking as Simmons entered.  “Really, he thinks that is keeping a low profile?” Elias was muttering, shaking his head.  “We’ll have to post back his date a few more months, at least.”  As Simmons approached, he looked up and smiled, “ Ah, Simmons, welcome.  Please, have a seat.”

Simmons did, taking a chair at the table with them. “Elias,” he said respectfully.  “I was hoping I’d find you here.”

Elias nodded, unsurprised, “Yes, Simmons.  I’d heard that you’d been asking about me.  I thought it was time we have a chat.”  

That threw Simmons, for a moment.  He’d anticipated catching Elias off guard in his evening time, not having the older boy thinking _he’d_ organized their meeting.  But he recovered quickly, “Yes I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while now.”

“Indeed,” Elias said calmly, folding his hands together on the table.  “And what were you hoping to discuss?”

“Business,” Simmons replied smoothly.  “I’ve heard you’ve got a hand in several ventures here at Hogwarts these days.”

Elias didn’t even refute the accusation, or eject Simmons from the room.  Instead he just leaned back casually, commenting, “Rumors can be tricky to track down, Simmons.  You never really know who’s dealing in what these days.”

Simmons forced himself to smile at the petty word games and useless dancing around the conversation.  “Well, dealing or not, I know that you’re in your seventh year.  You’ll be leaving Hogwarts come Spring.  And I don’t know about you, but that might hurt your business a little, should you be conducting any business at the school currently, hypothetically speaking,” he added smoothly.  “But, should you allow a few workers more into the folds of your organization before you leave, let us learn the ropes, we’ll be able to continue your work when you leave, giving you a portion of the profits, of course.”  

Elias and Anthony glance at each other, then chuckled, shaking their heads.  “Look Simmons,” Elias said in what could only be described as a patronizing tone.  “I let you find me, I let you in to talk, I listened to your little speech.  Now I’m going to tell you the facts.  

“The truth of the matter is that we’ve considered inviting you to join our particular brand of extracurriculars before.  Your expertise in the area of Quidditch would have been exceptionally useful.  But I’m afraid you just didn’t meet our standards.  You’re too loud, too angry.  We couldn’t, and still can’t, risk admitting your services.  

“And while you brought it up, I’m well aware of the fact that I will no longer be a student at Hogwarts after this year.  That fact will have no impact whatsoever on any theoretical business ventures I may be partaking in.  Just be sure that I have plan in place to deal with this.”  He looked Simmons right in the eye, looking more like he was trying to impart a lesson rather than turning down a business proposition.  “I suggest you devote your next two years to Quidditch and your studies, Simmons.  Leave the business end of Hogwarts to the professionals.”

Simmons knew a dismissal when he heard one, infuriating as this one was.  He didn’t argue, though.  He didn’t shout.  He simply stood up, took his bag, and walked out of the classroom, ignoring the smug smirk on the doorman’s face.

Simmons wasn’t surprised to find someone waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.  He fell in step easily beside Alonzo Quinn, Slytherin sixth year and a prefect, as they made their way through the castle.

“And the verdict?” Quinn asked smoothly, looking straight ahead as they walked.

Simmons shook his head, “He didn’t bite.”

Quinn nodded, they’d expected as much.  Elias was too clever to allow someone to just waltz in and join his gang.  He found people he wanted in on it, and invited them.  Both Quinn and Simmons hadn’t been offered an invitation.  “Oh well,” He said, disappointment obvious in his tone.  “It would have been easier to take over the game if we had roots laid in his organization.  But we can do just fine on our own.”  He smirked at Simmons out of the corner of his eye, “Let’s see how Elias deals with a little competition.”

Simmons grinned, “Give me names and I’ll start hunting them down.”

He was, after all, a very goal oriented person.


	8. The Duel

Joss Carter wondered for not the first time if maybe it hadn’t been the best decision to accept the position of prefect while deciding to stay on the Quidditch team, and promising to herself that she wouldn’t let her grades slip at all.  

Her patrol tonight was taking her around the first floor.  As she walked, she held her wand, light shining from the tip, in one hand, and her Defense Against the Dark Arts book in the other.  They were reviewing Dementors this week, and she knew Professor Greer enough to expect a pop quiz on the creatures tomorrow.  Greer may have picked her to be a Gryffindor prefect, but she knew he wouldn’t take the excuse of patrol to explain why she’d gotten less than a hundred on any quiz.  

So she flipped a page in her textbook, shining her wandlight on the page to read it, stopping only to peek into classrooms and shine the light in to make sure no students were out after hours.  

She knew these patrols were important. Teenagers were always prone to breaking rules.  Students would sneak out at night, some just for fun, others with less pleasant intentions.  So every night Headmaster Counsel assigned a few prefects to patrol the halls and make sure everyone was safe.  

She turned the hall, poking her wand into the Muggle Studies classroom to make sure it was clear.  She was getting to the end of her assigned patrol.  With luck, she’d have time to get through this whole chapter when she got back to the Common Room before squeezing in a few hours of sleep.  She sighed, thank goodness. This day had been much longer than she’d have liked.

“Hello Carter.”

Joss nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden words spoken behind her.  She whipped around, her wand ready, only to lower it and heave a sigh of relief.

“John,” She said in her sternest, most annoyed voice.  “What are you doing here?  You’re not supposed to be out after dark.”

John smiled that small smile of his at her.  “Yeah, but you’re not going to report me.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, “I’m not?”  She knew they were friends and everything, and some days she hoped for maybe a bit more.  But he was still breaking the rules, and unless he gave her a _very_ good reason, she sure as hell _was_ going to report him.  

John shook his head, “No you’re not.  Because I think you’re going to want to hear what I have to say.”

“And what exactly is that?” She demanded.

“Someone’s in trouble,” John said simply.  “We should go help them.”  And with that, he started walking through the hall, holding his wand casually in his hand.  

Joss didn’t hesitate before following.  There was no way she was just going to let John wander around the castle on his own.  Especially she’d apparently decided not to report him after all. They walked in silence for a while until finally Carter’s curiosity finally got the better of her and she blurted out, “So who exactly is in trouble?”

“Not exactly sure,” John replied calmly, leading her to a staircase and heading down it.  

“Okay,” Carter said slowly, “How are they in trouble?”

“I don’t know that either,” He replied.  “What I _do_ know is where and when they’ll be in trouble, and we don’t have much time.”

If Carter didn’t know John and how he acted, she’d say this was unusual behavior.  Instead, she just rolled her eyes, and asked in exasperation, “And just how do you know this?”

“I heard some kids talking.”

“Who?”

“I can’t seem to remember.”  

“ _John_.”

“Who’s there?”  

A third light appeared in the hall, and standing behind it was a figure Carter recognized.  She shoved John’s raised wand back down and called out, “It’s me, Fusco.”

“Carter?” Lionel Fusco was a fifth year Hufflepuff prefect.  Counsel had partnered them together at the beginning of the year, so now he and Carter shared all of their patrol shifts together.  He was a good guy, a bit obnoxious with a weird sense of humor, but Carter liked him for some reason.  He lowered his wand the moment he recognized her.  “What are you doing down here in the dungeons?”

Carter nodded at John, “John here thinks he knows about something dangerous going down tonight.”  Then she caught herself, “Oh, Lionel Fusco, this is John Reese.”

“Yeah, I know,” Fusco said, reaching out to shake John’s hand.  “You and your sister have knocked the shit out of a couple of my Quidditch buddies with your Bludgers several times.”

The words probably weren’t intended as a complement, but John smiled as she shook Fusco’s hand anyways.  “You can come with us, Lionel.  Two prefects are better than one.” He continued walking down the hallway.

Carter and Fusco followed behind him.  After a moment, Fusco whispered to Carter, “Do I want to know why we’re following Wonder Boy through the dungeons?”

Carter shrugged, “I trust him.”

Fusco rolled his eyes, “Oh jeez.”

John led them down the halls, past the hidden entrance to the Slytherin Common Room--that none of them were supposed to know the location of, but all three of them did--and past the Potions classroom before stopping just before a corner.

Before Carter could ask why they’d stopped, she heard it.  Loud shouts and zaps coming from across the hall.  If she had to guess, she’d say it sounded like someone was dueling in a classroom.  But no one was that stupid, right?

John kicked open the door to the classroom, and a spell shot past him, nearly Stunning him right then and there.

Joss sighed, apparently not.  

She and Fusco charged in after John, entering the classroom occupied by two students.  A Gryffindor student she didn’t recognize was casting spells at a younger Ravenclaw whose Shield Charm was barely holding.  She looked up with relief as the three newcomers entered, unlike the Gryffindor boy, who looked furious.  “What the hell are you doing here?”  He spat.

Carter pulled out her wand, “Apparently saving her from you.”  She took a step forward only to have her way blocked by an invisible force.  Someone had put a Shield Charm around this one-sided duel.  

The boy aimed another spell at the three of them.  Apparently whatever this charm was that was blocking them from stopping this craziness didn’t halt the boy’s spells.  John tried to retaliate, but his spell ricocheted off of the one-way shield.  

“Help me get this down,” Fusco told them both, waving his wand and ducking around another Stunning Spell sent towards them.  It was a complicated charm, and it took all three of them coordinating their efforts to bring it down.  

By that time, the Gryffindor boy had realized what they were doing, and had bolted out the side door of the classroom.  The moment she shield was down, Fusco and John raced after the attacker.  Meanwhile, Carter went to help the girl who was currently huddled in a corner.  

“Hey,” She said soothingly, kneeling down next to her.  The girl didn’t look that much younger than her.  Maybe a third year.  “Are you okay?”

The girl nodded, but she was shaking head to toe.

“What’s your name?”  Carter asked, hoping that maybe a simpler question with a more definite answer would help.  

“A-Andrea,” She said stutteringly.  “Andrea Gutierrez.”

“Okay Andrea, can you tell me what happened?”

“I got a note earlier today,” Andrea said, her words slowly becoming calmer.  “Someone slipped it into my bag.  It said to meet here later tonight.  There was a party or something.  But when I got here, it was just Galuska and some other guys.  The others set up that Shield Charm and left us alone.  Then Galuska just started shooting spells at me.  I tried to run, but I couldn’t escape him.  I couldn’t fight back, my combat magic is next to nothing.  I tried to block his spells as best I could but-” She shuddered, “I don’t want to think about what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up.”

She started shaking again, and Carter patted her shoulder comfortingly.  “Hey, it’s okay.  It’s okay.  But I need to ask, these other students, did you recognize them?”  Andrea shook her head.  “Why would this boy want to attack you, what did you call him?  Galuska?”

Andrea nodded again, “Dom Galuska.  I-I think he was mad that because I caught him and Chris Scollard cheating on a Transfiguration test.  I told Professor Control, and they both got detention. He must have found out it was me.”

The sound of running footsteps put both girls on alert, but it was just John who came running back into the classroom.  He looked around to make sure no one else was in any danger, then walked over to Carter.  “Fusco got the attacker.  He’s taking him to Professor Ingram to report him.”  He looked down at Andrea, “If she’s involved, you should take her, too.”  

Carter nodded, standing up and helping Andrea to her feet, “He’s right.  We should report this.  Come on, Andrea.  We’ll make sure Dom doesn’t hurt you any more.”  

John helped her take Andrea down to Ingram’s office.  Andrea entered, staying on the opposite side of the room from Dom.  Carter was about to follow when she turned, “John, how did you really know-?” But by the time she looked over her shoulder, he was gone.


	9. Study Time

Root was painting her nails around the time curfew set in one Thursday night in mid Fall.  She’d bought this bottle of black polish a few days before she’d taken to train to school, and she expected it would last her through Christmas, when she would go home and could buy some more.  

Hanna had never understood Root’s insistence on doing her nails like this.  For one thing, she’d claimed that black nails had very little charm--although apparently Root _had_ made her second guess that assertion--and for another, there were spells for that.  Spells that would coat your nails in any color you wished, a polish that would never dull, never chip or crack, and could be vanished at a moment’s notice.  Root had let Hanna teach her these spells, but she never used them.  Hanna--like everyone else--had failed to understand that the reason Root loved painting her nails like this was _because_ it was such a Muggle thing to do.  After all, Root’s mom was a Muggle. Her dad had been a Muggle and Root had thought herself one too, until her letter had arrived.  Even though she was the best witch in her year, she liked to remind herself every now and then that she was still different from the other students here.  And this was one of her ways of doing just that.

Not that any of her dorm-mates ever bothered to understand that.  Last week, Martine had “accidentally” knocked over Root’s bottle of polish on her way to dinner.  Root hadn’t said anything, just watched as the dark paint spread across the stone floor, until Martine was out of sight.  Then she’d quickly magicked all of it back into the bottle and started thinking.  A few days later in the Potions dungeon, by some freak accident, Martine’s nearly completed Shrinking Solution had exploded over her entire table.

Root had watched from her single desk at the back of the classroom as Martine’s nose had started shrinking quickly, while Harper’s hand was reduced to the size of a baby’s.  The other Slytherins and Gryffindors in the classroom had laughed nonstop until Professor Ingram had told them to be quiet while he applied the antidote--though a chuckle from Sameen Shaw rang out a few seconds too long.

Then, as a courtesy, Professor Ingram had checked Martine’s cauldron for any sign of tampering.  But Root hadn’t been worried.  She’d known that the newt’s tail she’d slipped into Martine’s potion wouldn’t be traceable by this point.  Eventually Professor Ingram decided that Martine’s procedure must have been off slightly, and she could come back after class sometime to make it up.  

Revenge, Root thought to herself as she finished her nails, is often sweetest when no one knows you’ve achieved it.  

She’d just tucked her polish back into her trunk when she heard two distinct sets of laughter approaching the door.  Martine and Harper were on their way back to the dorm room.  That was Root’s cue.  Quickly, she grabbed her Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook and shoved it into her bag.  She was ready for yet another confrontation with Martine as she passed the two girls in the hall that led back to the Common Room.  But the two girls didn’t seem to notice her as she slipped past them.  They were too busy discussing that Gryffindor Beater girl.  Apparently she’d done something weird in their Care of Magical Creatures class again.  

Root didn’t know much about this Shaw, but the more Martine discussed how much she disliked her, the more interested Root found herself becoming.  She wondered if she might just attend the next Gryffindor Quidditch match to watch these _Mayhem Twins_ in action.  

It was only a little after sunset, but the Slytherin Common Room was practically deserted.  That wasn’t really unusual.  The whole setup might be incredibly impressive, but it wasn’t extremely conducive to comfort and focus.  Most Slytherins did their studying in other classrooms during the day, or else in their dorm rooms.  There was talk among the students of redecorating but Root knew it would never happen.  Professor Control would never let them take down the ancient tapestries and replace the majestic chairs with comfy bean bags. They had to maintain house pride or something.

Still, Root glanced around at each and every desk and chair as she walked through the Common Room. She didn’t really think anyone would notice her leaving, but she also didn’t want to give anyone any potential ammunition against her by way of them seeing her slipping out of the Common Room after hours.  

As it was, the only person in the Common Room was the one person she didn’t really mind seeing.  

Zoe Morgan, fifth year Slytherin Keeper, was pouring over her Muggle Studies textbook as Root walked past her chair.  

“Zoe,” Root said respectfully.

Zoe looked up from her book and smiled.  “Root,” She said in greeting.  She was the only person in the entire school who continuously called Root by her preferred name, and Root loved it.  “Sneaking out again?”

Root shrugged, “You know how it is, can’t concentrate in the dorm with all those witches up there.”

“And I can’t convince you to just sit here and study with me?” Zoe asked, smirking.  

Root considered it.  Zoe was one of the few people in this school that she not only respected, but _liked_.  Zoe had been the one to find Root alone in a classroom last year, arguing with herself.  Anyone else would have likely just given Root a strange look and continued walking, but something had prompted Zoe to enter the classroom and ask her what was wrong.  

Root had never meant to, but Zoe’s presence had been so unexpected, and she’d been so unsettled that the whole story had spilled out.  How her reputation as a vengeful hexer had spread somewhat through the underbelly of the school and one day Denton Weeks had approached her with a deal.  If she attacked Harold Finch, he’d show her this great new spell to use on future targets.  She’d agreed, because it had sounded fun, and she loved learning new spells.  She’d done what Weeks had asked her, but Finch had noticed the spell heading his way--though he hadn’t seen her cast it--and quickly summoned a Shield Charm in the middle of the hallway.  The only problem with that plan was the way this new spell reacted viciously to any attempts to deflect it.  Instead of simply knocking Harold off his feet and levitating him around the hall for a few moments, it instead seeped into his leg, snapping it in several locations and enchanting the bone so that it would never heal quite properly.

Honestly Root had been impressed by the effectiveness of the spell, until she’d learned that it was nothing but a difference of two percent on an exam that had prompted Denton to hire her to send Finch to the Hospital Wing for two weeks, leaving him with a permanent limp.  

Root had maintained that she’d done no wrong in the incident.  She’d done what had been asked of her.  But she wondered if Denton Weeks really had been the best person to take on as a client.  

And Zoe had found her in the midst of that dilemma.  Upon hearing Root’s explanation of what had happened, Zoe had shaken her head, impressed.  “You know, I’ve seen kids attempt that hex you used on Finch.  Sixth, even Seventh years, all of them the spell backfired terribly.  But you, a _second year_ , managed to not only carry out the curse, but also the subcurse embedded in it.  That’s scary good magic, kid.”  

Root had smiled at that.  No one had complimented her magic like that since Hanna’s death.  Zoe had seen Root’s potential that day, and agreed to help her.  Zoe was something of a Fixer in the school.  She helped people in trouble get out of it.  Because of this, she was well acquainted with all of the lowlives and rule breakers at the school.  For the next year, she worked as a sort of patron of Root’s, giving her advice on which clients she should take on, and who would try to screw her over.  In her conversations with her own clients, Zoe would occasionally mention Root and her skill set, in order to help her build her reputation.  

Now, Root only took jobs that interested her or sounded fun.  But she didn’t forget that Zoe had helped her establish herself well enough to make herself known to those who would ask those tasks of her.  They might not exactly be friends--neither of them were the kind of people to _have_ friends--but if Zoe ever needed it, Root would be there to help her in a heartbeat.  

Still, Root preferred to study alone.  She shook her head at Zoe’s offer, “No, I like being out in the castle.”

Zoe rolled her eyes, unsurprised but still exasperated, “Okay kid, but be careful.  Some prefects caught one of Elias’s duels the other night.”

“Really?” Root asked, curious.  “I thought Elias was better at covering his tracks than that.”

“Normally, he is,” Zoe agreed.  “From what I hear, someone led the prefects there.”

“One of Elias’s guys turned on him?”  That didn’t sound like anyone he worked with.  Elias made sure to inspire just the right amount of fear and loyalty into the students he brought into his schemes.  He’d tried to recruit Root at the end of last year, but she’d turned him down.  She preferred to work freelance.  

Zoe shook her head, “No, no one’s that stupid.  This had to have been an outside source who found out about it somehow.  Elias has asked me to look into it.”

“He picked the best,” Root said, sitting on the edge of Zoe’s chair.  “If anyone can figure out what happened, it’s you.”  She leaned in a little closer, a small smirk on her face, “And you know, if you need help with anything...” She let the words trail off suggestively.  

Zoe raised her eyebrows and smirked back.  “You’ll be my first call,” She said with a wink.  Then she very pointedly picked up her book again, “But right now, we’ve both got studying to do.”  She opened her book up, “Don’t get caught by prefects, you’re better than that.”  

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Root said sweetly, stopping at the exit to wave at Zoe over her shoulder.  “Good luck with your studies, Zoe.”

“You too, Root.”

Root left the Common Room and quickly made her way up through the castle from the dungeons.  She wasn’t sure where exactly she was headed that night.  Sometimes she went up to a tower, other times she’d go to a random hallway or classroom.  The only place in the whole castle she never went was the Library.  

Tonight, she was wandering the first floor, looking for a good spot to practice her Freezing Spell.  She wondered if she might go out to the grounds later, after the moon rose.  She’d been having weird dreams lately, about the library and flashes of blue light.  She didn’t like them, they unsettled her.  She’d rather see how high she can climb up the Whomping Willow rather than let Martine witness her waking up shouting again.  

She thought about what Zoe had told her.  Someone had known about Elias’s duel in time to tell some prefects about it.  She agreed with Zoe, it couldn’t have been one of Elias’s own men.  If any of them had turned on him, Root had no doubt that they would be in the hospital wing, suffering from burns and marks that indicate an enchanted agreement has been broken.  Since there had been no rumors of anyone with those injuries, someone else must have found a way to track Elias’s plans.  

The thought reminded Root suddenly of an incident in the hallway a few weeks ago.  Root had heard that Denton Weeks was apparently looking for another way to attack Harold Finch.  She hadn’t liked the indication that her work was unsatisfactory.  Harold Finch was now permanently disabled thanks to her, she really didn’t know what else Weeks expected to do to punish him for being slightly smarter.  So, rather than reach out to Weeks and accept the job a second time, Root had opted to return the insult.  She’d been on her way to hit Weeks with the same curse she’d used on Finch, but right before she’d been able to attack him, who should show up but Finch himself?  Along with that lug, the other Gryffindor Beater, Reese.  Weeks had walked right up to them and shouted at them for a while before storming off, running into Root as he did so.  

It had been a strange coincidence, that they should appear right as Root was planning on attacking Weeks.  And now this news of someone knowing about Elias’s duels has Root curious about these boys.

She ducked out of a secret passage near the statue of Merlin that she knew hid a tunnel that would lead her out to the grounds, deep in thought, when someone snarled at her suddenly, “Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?”

That didn’t sound like any prefect Root knew of, and she had made a point at the beginning of the year to learn all the prefects, to better avoid them.  She felt her hand slip down to her wand as she whipped around to see whoever else was wandering around the castle at this hour.  It was dark in the hall, and Root could only make out shadows.  She gripped her wand and lit the tip of it without saying anything.  

Root had never believed in a god or fate or anything like that.  But she could appreciate a good coincidence when she saw one.  Out of all the students in Hogwarts, the one she would meet in a deserted hallway after hours _would_ be none other than Sameen Shaw, legendary Beater, Gryffindor third year, subject of many complaints from Martine Rousseau, and the girl that Root had recently been growing very interested in meeting.  

She was glaring at Root suspiciously, her own wand raised, but there was a spark of recognition in her eyes.  “Wait a minute,” she said slowly.  “You’re in my year.”

Root raised her eyebrows at her words, and smiled.  “Nice to meet you too, Sameen.  You can call me Root.”  

“It’s Shaw,” the other girl corrected her.  She didn’t have to ask how Root knew her name, she was a Quidditch star.  Whether she liked it or not, lots of people knew her name.  She narrowed her eyes at Root’s own strange introduction, but just adjusted her grip on her wand.  “What are you doing here?” She repeated.  

Root shrugged, not taking her eyes off of Shaw.  This girl really was cute in a grumpy yet somehow kind of dangerous sort of way.  “I could ask you the same question,” she said sweetly.  

Shaw’s face remained stony, “Good thing I asked first, then.”

Root smirked, she liked this girl.  “Just out for a walk in the moonlight.”

Shaw’s eyes flicked quickly to the window.  It was dark on the castle grounds, but the moon still had yet to rise.  “You’re a bit early for that, then.”

“I like to get a head start on things,” Root replied almost smugly.  

“And you’re not worried about prefects?” Shaw demanded

“No more than you are, apparently,” Root shot back quickly.

Shaw opened her mouth to say something, then stopped, and instead just glared at Root.  “I should go,” She said, just barely lowering her wand.  

Root responded with the smallest of pouts, “Must you?”

Shaw didn’t say anything more and instead stalked past her, walking towards the statue of Merlin that Root knew disguised a tunnel that led out to the grounds.  Root ducked back behind a tapestry and watched as Sameen Shaw opened up the tunnel and slipped in.  This girl certainly was interesting.  Root would have to keep an eye out for her in the coming days.  

She’d always loved a good puzzle.  


	10. Eavesdropping

Quidditch practice in the late Fall was always brutal.  The high winds sent all but the heaviest fliers at least somewhat off course.  The overcast sky caused uncertainty, as everyone knew that torrential downpours of either sleet or rain or hail could begin at any moment.  Not to mention the bitter, bitter cold.  

Shaw’s hands were freezing.  Her Quidditch gloves were designed for grip over warmth, and didn’t even cover her fingers.  But she didn’t care as she leaned forward on her broom, urging it to fly faster.  John was on her right, almost matching her pace but lagging just a few inches behind.  Shaw smirked as she looked over at him, but he just rolled his eyes and pointed his bat at the rest of their team.  Shaw’s eyes followed where he was pointing, taking in the two Bludgers headed right for their Chasers, currently huddled up and passing the Quaffle between them.

John and Shaw stayed in line with each other until the last second.  Just before it looked like they were going to bowl over their own team members, they split off, looping around the others and attacking the Bludgers, sending them flying over to the other side of the pitch in a way that--had they been playing against another team--the Keeper and at least one Chaster opposing them would have been attacked.  The team applauded their efforts and Simmons signaled that practice was over.  

As the team landed, Simmons looked over at John and Shaw.  “Nice maneuver,” He said, pulling out his wand and summoning the Bludgers back to the ball box.  He replaced the Quaffle in the box, too, and Laskey handed him the Snitch.  “I think you guys have that one down.”  

Shaw shrugged, “John was lagging a bit behind before we split.”

“Only because you like showing off your super broom,” John shot back almost playfully.  

Shaw wasn’t impressed, “We’ll go over it again next practice.”

“Good plan, Shaw,” Simmons agreed, nodding.  “You know the Ravenclaws won’t be expecting us to come at them with coordinated moves like this.  If we can get these perfect, we’ll catch them off guard.  Hopefully win the match next week.”   He clapped his hands together, “Alright guys, you all probably have homework to do, so that’s it for tonight.  Good job, don’t forget practice tomorrow.  I’ll see you then.  Laskey, if you could stay behind a second, I want to talk about those dives of yours.”  

As Simmons pulled their Seeker aside, Shaw propped her broom on her shoulder and headed back to the changing room.  She took her time, though.  She had no interest in starting the homework assigned to her tonight.  Greer had given them a research paper on Hinkypunks, due before he actually gave the lesson on them.  Something about learning how students can teach themselves, or something.  Along with that, Shaw also had a potions assignment that Ingram had assigned earlier that day that she should probably start tonight.  

_Potions_ , Shaw fought down the urge to snarl suddenly.  Normally it was her favorite subject, along with Defense against the Dark Arts.  She couldn’t quite explain it, but she liked the logic of it.  Do the procedure correctly, get the right result.  No emotion involved, no issues if you couldn’t properly imagine the outcome.  Potions made sense to her.  

But after last night, Shaw wasn’t as enthusiastic for her Potions class.  Not now, after she’d remembered that Potions was where she’d seen that Root girl before. The Gryffindors had always had Potions with the Slytherins.  That meant that Shaw had been in class with this girl for two and a half years without really noticing her.  Though with the few furtive glances Shaw had shot at her during class earlier today, she thought maybe she _had_ noticed the girl at one point.  Enough to remember that her actual name was Samantha Groves--though for some reason Shaw still found herself calling the girl Root in her head--and that she’d been a bit of a smarty pants back in their first year, maybe even top of their class briefly.  But whatever edge she’d had on the rest of their year, it was long gone now.  

Root had looked up once from her lonely table in the back of the Potions dungeon.  She’d glanced up to see Shaw looking at her.  And she’d smiled.   _She’d waved_.  Then she’d turned back to her work, smirking into her cauldron and looking for all the world like she’d just discovered this great secret that no one else knew.  Shaw had scowled then, and turned to her own potion, determined to not look in Root’s direction again for the rest of class.

People didn’t smile at Shaw.  People didn’t talk to Shaw.  People barely looked at Shaw.  Between her intimidating reputation as a fearsome Beater, and her less than sunny personality, Shaw didn’t tend to endear herself to many people.  John was really the only person in the castle she’d actually call a friend, and even that was stretching a bit for her.  But that was fine for Shaw.  It was how she liked things.  She didn’t like people, and she saw no reason to change herself to make them like her.  

And now this _Root_ had shown up, appeared in a dark hallway while Shaw had been on her way out of the castle.  She’d talked to Shaw, she’d smiled at Shaw.  Shaw still didn’t know what she’d really been doing in the halls that late, avoiding prefects, lurking in secret passageways.  She would have stayed longer to interrogate Root, but she’d had somewhere she needed to be.  

Not tonight, though.  Shaw had nowhere to be tonight other than the Common Room with her books, apparently.  She sighed at the thought, changing back into her school robes.  It was going to be a long and excessively boring night.  Maybe she could tell John to help her with her paper.  After all, he’d taken these classes already, and he’d let her copy his old work before.  

Speaking of John, Shaw noticed that Carter had just walked towards him.  Shaw smirked.  Those two had barely been able to tear their eyes from each other all practice.  Not one to respect anyone’s personal boundaries, Shaw immediately focused on what the two of them were saying.  

“Hey,” Carter said, keeping her voice low and standing very close to John.  “Thanks for helping out again last night.”

Shaw raised her eyebrows as she pulled out a tin of polish and began cleaning her broom handle.  Just what exactly had John “helped” Carter with last night?  

Carter continued, “That’s the third time this month.”

Damn, John didn’t waste any time, did he?

“But I’ve got to ask,” Carter paused for a moment before continuing.  “Where are you getting all this info about these duels?”

Wait, duels?

Shaw rolled her eyes so far up into her head, it hurt.  If she believed in a god, she’d ask what she’d done to be saddled with such an idiotic adoptive brother.  She made a mental note to never overestimate John’s game again, before focusing on what Carter and John were actually talking about.

John knew something about the duels that the prefects had been breaking up lately?  Shaw had heard about them, of course, who hadn’t?  No one was supposed to know about them, so naturally everyone was talking about them the moment a professor turned their back.  Now that Shaw thought about it, there had been exactly three duels broken up that the student body knew about.  And apparently Carter had been one of the apprehending prefects at all three.  And she’d gotten that information from John?  How had he known?

John gave a small smile to Carter’s question.  “I told you, Joss.  I listen.”  

Carter sighed and closed her locker.  “If you say so, John.  You heading back to the Common Room?”

“No, I thought I’d stop by the library first,” John said smoothly.

Carter shrugged, “Alright, I guess I’ll see you later then.”

“Good luck studying,” John said, watching her go.  

Shaw waited outside the changing room for John to exit, and fell in step beside him easily.  “What’s that I heard about duels?”  She asked so casually she might as well have actually been asking about homework.

John looked at her quickly, and though his face betrayed no surprise, she could see just a trace of it in his eyes.  He smiled quickly, “I’ve just been giving Carter a few leads when I hear them.”

“John,” Shaw said in her most unimpressed tone.  “You’re talking to the girl who spent two years trying to convince that the girl you liked, liked you back.  You _do not_ listen.  So how did you really know about those duels?  More importantly, _why didn’t you tell me about it?_ ”

John’s smile became genuine at Shaw’s last question.  He shook his head in a sort of astonishment, “Of course that’s what you’re mad about.  Look, Shaw, I can’t tell you how I know.  But you know just as well as I do why I couldn’t let you tag along last night.”

Shaw glared at him, “Really?  You’re using _that_?”

“It’s the truth Shaw, you couldn’t have come.”

Shaw clenched her jaw, debating whether or not she should punch John.  Finally she decided against it--she’d probably send him to the hospital wing, and the team shouldn’t have to deal with an injured Beater.  Instead she just shot him her deadliest glare, turned on her heel, and stormed off.  

She got back into the castle using the the tunnel that opened up behind a statue of Merlin on the first floor.  As far as she knew, no one else knew about this passage, so she tried not to use it often.  But she hadn’t wanted to walk into the castle with John, not after what he said.  

She was still mad about the way he’d brushed off her annoyance at being kept out of the loop, but that wasn’t what she was focusing on.  John had told Carter he was going to the library.  And now, so was she.

She’d never liked the library.  Too many books.  Too much encouragement to read and _learn_.  Not really Shaw’s style.  But she had to admit that there were plenty of great places to hide in the library, places that made eavesdropping quite easy.  

Hiding behind a section of History of Magic books--no one was going to find her there--Shaw watched as John sat down at an already occupied table.  From where she was hiding, Shaw couldn’t quite see who else was at the table with him, though.

“We got anything?” John asked, pulling a textbook out of his bag.

“Not yet, but it’s Friday, so I expect we’ll have a name or place soon,” came the response.

Shaw raised her eyebrows, somewhat surprised.  She recognized that voice--she’d heard it the day of their match against Slytherin.  This was Harold Finch, the boy who’d warned them about a hexed broom.  The boy who was apparently John’s friend again.  

“Great,” John said, turning to a page in his text book.  “I need something to distract me from this essay.”

Finch’s tone sounded less than impressed as he responded, “John, need I remind you that the map isn’t intended to be a distraction for us?  We’re supposed to be helping people.”

“And we will,” John replies.  “Just as soon as we get a location.”  

Those few words convinced Shaw that she’d had enough eavesdropping for one day.  She wanted some direct answers.  Now.  “Oh there you are, John, I’ve been looking all over for you,” she said louder than was really necessary, coming out from behind the bookshelf.  She couldn’t help but smirk at the exasperated look on John’s face, and the absolute terror on Harold’s as she pulled up a chair.  “So,” she said, leaning forward on the table, “What’s this I hear about a map?”


	11. Professor Greer

“So this map tells you when and where someone’s going to be attacked?”  Shaw asked, looking only slightly surprised by the revelation of the map.  

Harold had been astonished--and honestly somewhat terrified--by the sudden appearance of John’s sister in the library.  His first instinct had been to protect the map and cast a memory charm on her immediately and erase her memory of their conversation.  But John had stopped him before he could reach his wand.  They’d held a quick whispered conversation during which John had claimed that Shaw could be trusted, and maybe she could help them.  Harold was uncomfortable with the idea of telling anyone about the map, but he trusted John’s judgement.  So he had sat reluctantly sat back while John explained the basics of the map without going into too much detail.  

Harold first spoke to answer Shaw’s question, “It’s not quite that simple, Sameen-”

“It’s Shaw.”

Harold nodded, acknowledging the--rather rude--interruption.  “It’s not quite that simple, Miss Shaw.  The map varies it how it tells us that danger is coming.  It’s not always a time and place, and it’s not always an attack.  We’ve encountered a few instances of backfiring magic, as well as organized duels, along with outright attacks.  The main purpose of the map is to protect people from dangerous magic.”

“And you guys just swoop in wherever it tells you and save the day?” Shaw asked, looking a little offput at the ways Harold had addressed her.  “But you don’t let anyone see you?”

“We try to be discreet, yes,” Harold acknowledged, nodding.  “We’ve enlisted the help of prefects when we can, and John often tries to lose himself in a crowd as soon as he’s stopped an imminent attack.”  

“The duels can get a little more exciting,” John added, smirking at the way Shaw’s eyes lit up slightly at the mention of duels.  “Those students would recognize us on sight, but so far they’ve all been expelled or suspended so we’re safe for the moment.”

“I have plans to plant memory charms on any dueling students who may have witnessed your assistance, John,” Harold commented, realizing that he had yet to share this part of his plan with his friend.  “They’ll remember that someone else was there, but they won’t be able to recognize your face.”

John nodded, “A safety net of sorts.  Good thinking, Harold.”

Shaw was nodding, too.  But not in agreement to John’s statement.  She almost looked like she’d made a decision of some sort.  Harold was going to ask her what her thoughts on the situation were, but his attention was drawn suddenly to the map that was discreetly tucked next to his open textbook.  Blue writing was suddenly scrawling out a time in the sixth floor near the Ancient Runes classroom.  

John was already checking his watch.  “We’ve got twenty minutes,” He said, tucking his books away.  

Harold, too was packing up his supplies, folding the map up and placing it in the front pouch of his pack.  He stopped when he realized that Shaw had also stood up and was watching them expectantly, her wand already gripped in her hand.  

“So where are we going?”  She asked, as her seat at the table hadn’t offered her a good view of the map.  

John raised his eyebrows.  “ _You_ are going back to the Common Room, unless you’d like to continue studying here,” He gestured at now clear table.  

Shaw glared, “You don’t honestly expect me to just walk away from this.”  

“Shaw,” John said dangerously.  

But Shaw wasn’t backing down.  She stepped right up to John--undaunted as he towered above her--looking at him with a challenge in her eyes, “We really don’t have time to be arguing about this, do we?”

“I’m afraid Miss Shaw is right,” Harold interrupted.  Both siblings snapped to look at him.  He gestured to the library door, “We need to get to the sixth floor in twenty minutes.  That’s almost halfway across the castle.  There’s no time for arguments if we want to help.  We need to leave, now.”

John let out yet another exasperated sigh, and Shaw shot him a smug smirk.  Both of them followed Harold out of the Library.  He led them through the hall and up the staircase to the fifth floor.  They were crossing another corridor to get to the stairs that would lead to the sixth floor when a hand appeared on Harold’s shoulder, gently but firmly pulling him to a stop.  

“Ah Mister. Finch, just the young man I was hoping to see.”  

Harold jumped at the sound of Professor Greer’s voice, calm and collected behind him.  He turned around, looking up at the head of Gryffindor House.  “You were looking for me, sir?”  He asked, curiously.  

“Just hoping to run into you,” Greer clarified.  John and Shaw stopped suddenly behind them both, and Professor Greer turned to greet them as well.  “Mister Reese, Miss Shaw, nice to see you both.  Where are you three off to at such a hurried pace?”

“The Divination Tower,” Harold blurted out, stating the first location in this area he could think of.  “John and I were going to help Sameen with her project.”

“How generous of you,” Greer said, his eyes sweeping over the three of them.  Then his attention snapped back to Harold, “If it’s not too much trouble, Mister Finch, I was hoping to have a quick word with you about the essay you handed in last week on Werewolves.”  

Shaw clenched her jaw and John looked at his watch suddenly.  They were running out of time.  Harold made a quick decision.

“Of course,” He said, digging into his pack and pulling out the folded up map.  “Here, John.  These are my notes for the project.  You two should be able to get started on the project without me.  I’ll catch up later.”

John’s eyes flicked from the map to Harold, and he nodded, taking the parchment and nodding to Shaw.  They both muttered quick goodbyes and took off down the hallway.  

Professor Greer watched them go for a moment, “They’re certainly eager to get started.”

Harold forced a smile, “More likely they’re eager to be _finished_.  John spent twenty minutes talking her into starting that project tonight rather than putting it off until Sunday.”  He was lying through his teeth, but he thought the explanation sounded enough like the siblings that Greer wouldn’t question it.  

“You two must be a good influence on her,” Greer commented, leading Harold back down a staircase.  “I’ve had Sameen Shaw in class for three years and I’ve never known her to be so enthusiastic about an assignment.  And not to boast, but I think I teach one of her favorite classes.”

Harold couldn’t argue with that.  From what little John had told him about his adopted sister, he would also guess that Defense Against the Dark Arts would be her favorite class.  And now that he thought about it, he didn’t think she was even _taking_ Divination.  

Greer led him through the castle to his office on the fourth floor.  Harold sat down in the chair in front of Greer’s desk, while Greer seated himself in his own office chair.  He ruffled around in the papers on his desk for a few moments before pulling out a scroll of parchment that Harold recognized as his essay on Werewolves.  The professor scanned the paper for a moment before turning it to face Harold.  “This was a phenomenal paper, like all the rest of yours, of course.  But I couldn’t help but notice your statement in the third paragraph about how their wolf form retains imprints of the human’s mental state just before transformation.  The theory is quite interesting, but you lack adequate justification for such a claim.  I was wondering what prompted you to add that in.”

Harold nodded.  He’d been curious if Professor Greer would notice that little statement.  He and John had written their papers for this assignment together, bouncing ideas off of each other and somehow the theory had come up.  John had opted not to include it in his paper, but Harold had deemed it worth the risk.  He really hadn’t thought Professor Greer would do anything more than perhaps mark him down a few points for including such a claim not backed up by any research.  He certainly hadn’t expected to be called into Greer’s office to discuss it.  

“I think it’s an interesting point to consider,” Harold said calmly.  “We know for a fact that they retain all memories of their activities as wolves when they wake up again in human form.  For as long as Werewolves have been identified in the magical world, however, we’ve assumed that their wolf forms are monsters, vicious beasts--unless counteracted by a week’s consumption of the Wolfsbane potion, of course.  And it’s true that the wolves are incredibly violent.  But what if their level of violence changed?  If the werewolf was happy before shifting, would they be less violent than if they were angry?  It’s true that there’s no research in this field, but I thought it was an interesting point to make and potentially debate.”

Greer was nodding in agreement, “An intelligent argument, as I could expect from you, Mister Finch.”  He placed the essay back in his stack of papers.  “I was hoping for your permission to bring up this topic at the next educational conference I attend.”

Harold nodded, “Of course.  Further discussion and research could only help those afflicted by lycanthrophy.”  

“Agreed,” Greer said, nodding in approval, looking at Harold warmly.  Something flickered in the professor’s eyes and he leaned forward with interest.  “While you’re here, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that project you were talking about last year.  Your... prediction spell, was it?”

Harold’s stomach dropped.  He’d almost forgotten the number of professors he’d consulted during his early stages of planning for the book.  Most teachers had assumed that his work was purely theoretical.  Greer was the first professor to follow up on his “project”.  

“A brilliant theory,” Greer continued warmly.  “Generating a spell that would predict acts of harm.  It could be incredibly useful-” He stopped suddenly, listening.  “Did you hear something?”

Harold listened as well and shook his head, “No, sir, nothing.”

Greer was looking at the door of his office almost suspiciously.  He stood up and opened it, looking out into the hall both directions.  When it became apparent that there was no one there, he closed the door again and shrugged, returning to his seat.  “Must be my old mind playing tricks on me.  I apologize for the interruption.  But, as I was saying, your project, Mister Finch, have you made any progress?”

“Well, it was less of a project and more of an idea, Professor,” Harold said amiably.  “I was just curious.”

Greer raised his eyebrows doubtfully.  “Just curious?” He repeated.

Harold nodded, “It was an interesting concept, but I couldn’t find a way to make it work realistically.  I gave up after my... accident last year.”

“Of course, of course,” Greer said quickly.  “That would have shifted your priorities a bit.  Well,” He continued, clapping his hands together.  “Should your interest in the topic ever rekindle, I offer my assistance, however useful it may be.”

“Thank you, Professor Greer, I’ll keep that in mind.  Now I don’t mean to be rude, but if there’s nothing else, I really should be getting back to John and Sameen.”

Greer nodded quickly, standing up and gesturing to the door, “Please, don’t let me keep you.  Good luck on your project, Mister Finch.”

Harold nodded and said a quick thank you.  But as he left Greer’s office, he found himself wondering if it was Shaw’s project Greer was wishing him luck with, or another one.


	12. A Job Offer

Simmons was _not_ lurking outside the Charms classroom.  He was waiting.  And he just so happened to be waiting in the exact place that the Slytherin third year class will be walking past on their way back from Herbology in about, he checked his watch, two minutes.  He paced back and forth, calm and collected but curious.  This was the first recruit he was making that he didn’t know personally.  Sure, he knew her by reputation, but sometimes stories can be skewed by imagination.  Either way, he knew he’d find out soon enough.  

A stampede of Slytherins appeared at the end of the hall, talking and chattering and bemoaning the amount of dirt ground into their fingernails after a long class.  Barely any of them spared a glance at the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain as he leaned casually against the wall.  And none of them noticed when he pulled out his wand and aimed a jinx at the books of an unobtrusive girl with loose brown curls.  

She stumbled as her books tumbled from her hands, causing a nearby blonde girl to laugh sneeringly as she passed.  The girl Simmons had jinxed took a long time to reorganize her possessions.   So long that her classmates had entirely passed her by by the time she stood up, looking around with an almost irritated expression.  Her eyes locked on Simmons immediately and they approached one another.  

“I hear you’re the one they’re calling Root these days,” Simmons said, forgoing a standard greeting.  

Root smiled at him, completely unsurprised that he knew of her nickname.  “And you’re Patrick Simmons, Gryffindor Chaser, Captain, sixth year, and the one who just jinxed my books.  You know,” She added sweetly.  “There are easier ways to get a girl alone.”  

Simmons gave a small smirk, “And there are easier ways for a girl like you to get a bit of magical action, without waiting for it to find you in a hallway.”

Root looked up at him, interested but still skeptical. “You have a job in mind?” She asked coolly.

Simmons nodded, “What do you know about Elias?”

“Ravenclaw seventh year?” Root asked, feigning a tone of ignorance.  “This tall?  Hangs around with that Hufflepuff guy a lot?  Runs the rule-breakers in the castle?”

Simmons really didn’t like how arrogant this kid was.  Part of him wanted to hex her into next week.  But he knew he couldn’t afford to do that.  Most of the best spellcasters willing to do this kind of work were already in deep with Elias.  He needed to recruit everyone else he could if he wanted to stand a chance in this game.  If what was whispered between certain students was true, this kid was good.  Hell, if _half_ of what people said about her was true, she was better than any of Elias’s boys.  

So he didn’t hex her.  He just swallowed his anger and nodded, “Yeah, him.”

“I don’t like him much,” Root commented.  “He’s good, I’ll give him that.  Knows how to run his ring, but he’s got too many rules and regulations for me.  Not enough room to have fun with the job.”

Okay, maybe this kid wasn’t so bad after all.  “He does like his neat and tidy order,” he agreed.  “What do you say we mess with that a little bit?”

He’d clearly gotten this girl’s attention now, “What exactly did you have in mind?”

Simmons grinned, “Let’s you and me go take a walk.”


	13. The Headmaster

Carter was exhausted.  Between classes and prefect patrols and Simmons calling practice every night until the match on Friday, she’d been running nonstop for too long, and she could tell it was getting to her.  After the match against Ravenclaw, she promised herself she'd take a break.

Simmons pushed them hard during practice that night, despite the snow that had been steadily falling all day.  The whole team flew until they could barely stay on their brooms. Even Shaw looked somewhat worn by the time Simmons called them to the ground. He gave them his usual pep talk of a good practice, reminded them how important it was that they beat Ravenclaw, and told them to go get some sleep.

Carter scoffed as she left the changing room, her broom perched on her shoulder.  As if she’d be getting any sleep.  She had two essays due tomorrow, and they weren’t going to write themselves.

She walked back to the castle with John and Shaw, who were talking about their tactics to outmaneuver the Ravenclaw Beaters on Friday.  Carter listened without really hearing anything they said.  They were in the entrance hall and she was just about to ask John if he’s done the Potions essay yet, and if not, maybe they could work on it together, when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

“There you are, Carter, I’ve been looking all over for you.”  

The three of them stopped and turned to see Lionel Fusco, slightly out of breath, and looking anxious.  “Headmaster’s called a meeting of all the prefects,” He explained.  “Head Boy and Girl, everyone.”  He nodded towards the nearest flight of stairs, “Come on, we gotta go.”

“Now?” Carter winced as she heard the exhaustion in her voice with just that one word.  

Fusco looked somewhat apologetic, but nodded, “Actually, five minutes ago, but I couldn’t find you so...” He tried not to sound hurried, but she got the point.

“Here Joss,” John said, reaching out to take her broom from her.  “We’ll take your broom back to the Common Room for you.”

Shaw shrugged, “Yeah, sure.  Go to your meeting thing.”

Carter looked at both of them skeptically, and shook her head.  She’d never understand those two.  Sometimes they acted like no one else in the world could ever understand them, and other times they were kind and helpful in ways they’d never admit.  “Thanks guys.  I’ll see you back in the Common Room.”

“You sure will,” John said, taking Carter’s broom and supporting it, along with his own, on his shoulder.  “That Potions essay is going to be killer.”  

Carter smiled sympathetically at him, then followed Fusco up the stairs.  

“Hey, are you okay?” Fusco asked, sounding almost concerned as they made their way through the castle to the headmaster’s office.  Carter shot him a curious look and he hurried to explain, “I just know you’ve been busy and all what with classes and Quidditch and these patrols.  Not to mention Wonder Boy showing up randomly to drag us into a fight.”

Carter’s heart skipped a beat, “You haven’t told anyone about John, have you?”

“And miss out on the chance to take credit for all these busts myself?” Fusco asked with a grin, but Carter could hear the sarcasm in his words.  She knew that he wasn’t really looking for any fame.  “I figured if he wanted people to know about him, he’d be taking these guys down himself.  Since he goes through us,” He shrugged.  “I figured we could keep it quiet.”

“Yeah,” Carter agreed, nodding.  “I thought the same thing.”

“You still don’t know where he’s getting this stuff?” Fusco asked as they rounded a corner.  

“All he’ll tell me is that he listens to people,” she replied.  The look shared between them confirmed that neither prefect truly believed that line.  But before they could continue discussing their friend’s strange knowledge, someone called over to them.

“There you two are!  We’ve been waiting!”

Alonzo Quinn was standing in front of the statue that hid the passage up to the headmaster’s office.  Carter was somewhat surprised to see him waiting for them.  Obviously, he’d been posted as some kind of lookout, to keep watch for the stragglers.  She wondered if he’d asked for the post, or if it had been assigned to him.  Quinn was a good student, and an average prefect.  He kept a good balance of performing his prefect duties, but never really going above and beyond.  Carter knew that Quinn had no ambitions of being Head Boy next year.  

As they approached, Quinn waved his wand at the statue and hurried both of them up the staircase that appeared, talking the whole time.  “Professor Counsel said we couldn’t start until everyone was here.”  

“Sorry Quinn,” Carter said.  “Quidditch.”

Quinn just shook his head as they reached the door, “Figures.  Come on, we’ve held up this meeting long enough.”  And he marched into Professor Counsel’s office with the two of them close behind, announcing, “I’ve got them, sir.”  

“Good, thank you Quinn,” Professor Counsel said from his desk.  He was an intimidating wizard, with a bit of a bullfrog-ish appearance.  He’d been headmaster for several years now, and everyone knew how much pride he took in running the school.  He looked up from some papers he’d been going over at his office--currently packed with fifth, sixth, and seventh year prefects from all four houses.  “Now that Miss Carter and Mister Fusco have joined us, we can get started.”  He stood up from his desk, towering over the students around him, “I’ve called this meeting to discuss the incredible increase in the use of dark magic and combative spells in this school outside of the controlled environments of our classrooms.”

A heavy silence meets his words, and he continues, “I know Hogwarts has a proud history of magical experimentation and pushing students to explore their limits and boundaries, but some spells are unacceptable to have cast within these walls.  Just today we had _two students attacked in the halls_.  Hit with some bizarre combination of the Jelly Legs Jinx and a Body Bind Curse.  It took the nurses _six hours_ to work out how to counteract it, and the victims _still_ suffer from spontaneous twitches and cramps.”  He looked at all of them sternly, clenching his fists, “I do not need to inform you how completely unacceptable this is.”

He stops and takes a deep, calming breath.  “That’s not to say we haven’t had our victories.  Carter and Fusco have interrupted four midnight duels in the past few months,” He paused so that the other prefects could applaud.  Carter and Fusco nodded, somewhat embarrassed.  Then the headmaster continued, “That being said, we still have to work harder to protect the students in this castle.  Four duels is too many to be an isolated incident.  I have suspicions that someone in this castle is organizing these dangerous activities.  We need to find whoever is responsible for these attacks and encounters and put a stop to it.  And in order to do that, we need to maintain an air of secrecy.  Few students outside of this room are aware of exactly how many attacks and duels have occurred in this castle this year.  I aim to keep it that way.  We can’t let whoever is behind these duels and curses know that we are searching for them.  You are not to discuss these events with anyone.  We will deal with this problem ourselves.  There’s no need for word of these incidents to make their way to the student body, or the press, or the Ministry.”  These words almost sounded threatening.  All of the prefects were aware of the effects a Ministry investigation would have on the school, and especially Professor Counsel.  

“Therefore,” He said, clapping his hands together loudly, making the students jump.  “I will be increasing the number of patrols around the castle each night.”  Carter bit down a groan.  “And I’m giving you all full authority to bring in any student you think might be involved in these dark practices directly to my office.  Please, bring any and all suspicions directly to me, or the Head Boy and Girl.”

The prefects in the room all nodded, looking at each other in agreement.  

Professor Counsel waved his hands at them, “That’s all.  I’ll be distributing updated patrol schedules shortly.  Stay vigilant everyone.  We _don’t_ want the Ministry getting involved in this.  Have a good night, everyone.”  

The prefects left the office in a scrambling herd, splitting off down various halls to return to common rooms or else find classrooms to study in for the few hours remaining before curfew set in.  Fusco gave Carter a nod and a wave and headed off back to the Hufflepuff Common Room.

Carter, too, set a quick pace back to her house’s Common Room.  She still had those papers to write, after all.  As she walked hurriedly through the halls, she peeked into the classrooms.  It was a habit more than anything by this point, a side effect of all the patrols she’d done.  

At one point, somewhere on the fifth floor, she looked into a classroom and found herself stopping for a second, surprised by what she saw inside.  Simmons was in the room, with Laskey.  It looked like Simmons was helping Laskey with some sort of spell.  He was showing the younger boy a complex wand motion--something like a zig-zag then a sharp jab--and Laskey was mimicking the motion.  

Carter watched for a moment in the hall.  She’d never seen Simmons help out another student with any kind of homework or assignment before.  He wasn’t really the type to freely offer advice on anything other than Quidditch.  Maybe he was helping Laskey learn this spell so that he’d have more time for practice before the match.  

Either way, it wasn’t her problem, Carter decided, resuming her path to the Common Room.  If they wanted to practice spells together, that was their business.  Although now that Carter thought about it, she realized she didn’t know of any spell that would require such a wand motion.     

Carter was exhausted by the time she gave the password to the portrait of the Fat Lady and sat herself down in a cushy red armchair by the fireplace.  She sat there for a while, doing nothing, thinking of nothing, just letting herself relax.  She stayed like that until she heard someone sit down in the chair next to hers.  

She opened her eyes to see John sitting there, looking at the dying embers of the fire.  “If you’ve got another duel for me to break up, John,” she said sleepily.  “Go find yourself another prefect.”

John smirked, “Actually, I had something a little different for you.”  He handed her a roll of parchment.

Carter raised her eyebrows and took it, unrolling it.  “A potions essay?”

John nodded, “The one we’re supposed to have done by tomorrow.  I thought you might like to read through mine.”

“And by read through, you mean copy?” Carter asked slyly.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Carter.  You’re a _prefect_.  You can’t copy homework,” he said innocently.  “I was thinking you’d paraphrase it, most likely with some improvements.”

She really tried to stop the smile that came to her lips at his words, but she just couldn’t help it.  “I think I might just do that.  Thanks John.”  

He sat down in a chair beside her, apparently intent on staying up as long as she was, “It’s my pleasure.”


	14. Greenhouse Four

_How did we miss those two curse victims yesterday?_  John scribbled the words onto the small scrap of parchment he had perched in the corner of his desk.  Carter had told him about the attack on the students in the hall while they’d been working on their essays last night.  From what she’d said, the curse had been nasty, and preplanned.  John wanted to know why the map hadn’t warned them about the attack.  

He watched the ink of his words fade into the page.  A few moments later, new words apparently wrote themselves onto the paper, this time in Harold’s writing.   _We were all in class at the time of the attack.  Professor Greer was teaching us improved Shield Charms.  I couldn’t read the map.  It’s unfortunate, but there was no way to help them._

Shortly after Shaw had been informed about the existence of the map, Harold had realized that it would be extremely useful to have a method of nonverbal, instantaneous communication between the three of them, to coordinate map locations.  So he’d enchanted three pages of parchment with a spell that allowed them to somewhat share the document, writing messages for them to all read and respond to.  The system worked well, too.  Any teacher watching them write would simply assume they were taking notes.  At the moment, John was supposed to be doing just that, taking notes on Silencing Charms, while Harold was in Muggle Studies and Shaw had an hour before she had to get to History of Magic.  

Shaw’s hasty chicken scratch appeared almost as soon as Harold’s words faded--it had taken Harold a few days to figure out how to decipher her messy scrawl, but he’d learned quickly that asking Shaw for clarification was only a guaranteed way to make her mad.   _Okay but you’ve got to admit that that combination of spell was kind of genius.  Sick, but brilliant.  Jelly Legs and a Body Bind?  Who even thinks of spells like that?_

_I don’t know if that’s the priority here, Miss Shaw,_ Harold responded quickly in his elegant script, his disapproval for her admiration of the curse clear even through the page.  

_No I think she’s got a point, Harold,_ John scrawled. _If these attacks are being coordinated like Counsel thinks, maybe we should stop focusing on saving individuals and start looking into how the targets are chosen._

_Yeah, Finch,_ Shaw wrote before Harold could respond.   _Let’s do some investigating._

_I don’t know if it’s wise to go poking our heads around in this,_ Harold told them warningly.  Th _ese spells that we’ve been preventing are Dark Magic.  If there is a mysterious coordinator behind all of these attacks, they’re likely incredibly dangerous.  And Miss Shaw, I believe I’ve told you already that you can call me Harold._

_You call me “Miss Shaw” I call you Finch,_ Shaw wrote back quickly.  

John nodded, that exchange did only seem fair.  He was about to write as much when Professor Claypool announced loudly, “Alright, that’s it for today folks.  Be sure to practice that charm on your own time.  I expect to see each of you able to Silence a raven next time in class.”

John looked began packing up his things.  It was only as he was standing up to leave that he grabbed the piece of parchment and read Harold’s last message.

_We’ve got another one.  Outside Greenhouse Four.  20 minutes._

John stopped and pulled out his quill, scribbling quickly, _Meet me there, Shaw._

“Hey, everything okay?”

John looked up to see Carter standing by his desk, her books already back in her bag, looking at him curiously as he hastily stowed the enchanted parchment away.  He stuffed his books into his own bag and said, “Actually, Joss, I think I might need your help.”  If this attack was out on the grounds, he reasoned to himself as he slung his bag over his shoulder, there might be more than the usual one or two victims.  Having a prefect along definitely wouldn’t hurt.  Besides, he’d never say no to Carter’s company.

Carter was looking at him almost suspiciously, “Don’t tell me you _heard_ something again, John.”

He just smiled at her, “What can I say?  My ears are fantastic.”

She shook her head, but followed him out the door, “One of these days you’re going to tell me how you actually find out about these things.”

John shrugged, smirking, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” Carter replied, rolling her eyes.  “Where are we going anyway?”  She asked as they made their way through the entrance hall.  

“The greenhouses, I think,” Shaw’s voice came suddenly from John’s other side.  

Carter just barely jumped and looked quickly over John to Shaw, “And how do you know about this?”

“Just lucky, I guess,” Shaw replied, shrugging.  

But Carter didn’t miss the smirk exchanged between the Mayhem Twins.  “I swear you two will be the death of me someday,” she muttered, shaking her head.  

John just smiled again as they left the castle.  It was snowing lightly, and the wind wasn’t blowing too harshly.  Still, John pulled his robes a bit tighter around himself, almost wishing they had time to go back in for something warmer.  They made their way quickly towards the greenhouses, thankful for the shelter the buildings provided from the wind.  “Greenhouse Four, right?” He asked Shaw, who nodded in response.

Carter looked like she wanted to ask for the thousandth time how they knew this, but before she could, she noticed someone leaning against the side of Greenhouse Four.  “Is that Laskey?” She asked.

“Oh shit, what kind of trouble has he gotten himself into?” Shaw asked.

John couldn’t help but agree with the exasperation in her tone.  Neither of them had ever really been fond of Laskey.  He was too enthusiastic in all the wrong ways.  Always wanting to be a Quidditch star, but never willing to put in the work for it.  Carter had told them to at least try to tolerate the kid.  John had attempted to follow her advice.  Shaw still thought the kid was completely useless at anything that wasn’t specifically related to catching a Snitch.

John drew his wand casually, and realized Carter and Shaw had already done the same.  He was just about to call over to Laskey, get his attention and hopefully get him out of trouble, when the door to Greenhouse Four opened up, and a Ravenclaw guy, a few years older than them, stepped out into the cold.  

Instantly Laskey stood up fully and walked towards him.  “Hey Elias,” He said casually, pulling out his own wand.  “Looks like you’re out of business.”

Carter reacted first, projecting a Shield Charm between Laskey and this Elias.  The invisible shield went up just as Laskey swiped his wand in a zig-zag pattern followed by a sharp jab, and shouted a spell John didn’t recognize.  A jet of purple light shot from his wand and bounced off the shield, and landed in a patch of fresh snow, exploding into a small tower of purple flames for a few moments.

Laskey looked up, confused.  Then his face went white at the three of them.  He started to run, but John and Shaw both shot Stunning Spells at him.  He collapsed face first in the snow.

John quickly walked over to the potential victim, “Are you alright?”

Elias nodded, looking remarkably unshaken.  “Yes, I think so.  I was just checking on my herbology project when he-”

“We saw,” John interrupted, looking between Laskey and Elias.  “Do you guys know each other?”

Elias shook his head, “I’ve never spoken to him.”

“So you have no idea why he’d attack you?” He asked.  

Again, Elias appeared to be at a loss, “None.”

“Okay,” John said slowly, wondering if he should take him at his word.  Something about this Elias didn’t feel right to him, but he couldn’t place it.  “Well if you’re sure, I’d recommend you head back inside.  We’ll take care of Laskey.”

“Of course,” Elias said, nodding quickly.  He turned to go, but stopped and held out his hand.  “Carl Elias,” he said by way of introduction.  John hesitated for a moment, then shook.  Elias smiled, continuing, “No need to ask who you are.  Everyone knows the Quidditch star.”  He released John’s hand and this time he really did walk off, waving back at the trio with a call of, “I’ll see you around, John.”

John wondered if he should feel honored or unsettled that Elias knew his name.  He looked over at Carter, thinking to voice that thought.  Then he noticed the look of concentration on her face.  “Everything okay?” He asked quietly as Shaw stalked off over to Laskey’s still form.

Carter nodded slowly, brow furrowed. “Yeah,” she said slowly, her eyes glued to Laskey as Shaw dragged him over through the snow.  “Just, that spell... I think I’ve seen it...”  She shook her head, apparently trying to clear her thoughts.  “Sorry John, I’m fine.  Just a lot on my mind.”  She pointed her wand at Laskey and waved it a bit, muttering a spell.  Still unconscious, Laskey’s body hovered a few inches above the snow.  “I’ll get him to a professor.  They can deal with him and his attack.  I’m assuming you’d like me to keep both of your names quiet?” She asked.

John nodded, “That would be greatly appreciated, Joss.”

“I figured,” Carter rolled her eyes.  “You know, we should hang out some time when there’s not Quidditch, or danger, John,” she called over her shoulder, a hovering Laskey following her as she made her way back to the castle.  

John stood there with a somewhat goofy smirk on his face until he felt Shaw elbow him hard in the stomach.  “Ow! What?” He demanded, jumping away from her.

“That, dumbass, is when you say something like ‘Yeah, that’d be great’ or ‘Sure what were you thinking’ or _literally anything to acknowledge that yes you would like to spend time with her,_ ” Shaw replied, apparently astonished that he hadn’t thought to say anything along those lines.  She looked up at the gloomy, cloudy sky, “God were you this clueless and useless with Kara?”

“I, uh-” John stuttered.  Now that he thought about it, Kara had done most of the flirting in their relationship.  He hadn’t really done much of anything to express his interest in her or his feelings towards her.  Maybe he shouldn’t be that surprised that she’d left him.

Shaw didn’t even wait for him to scramble together a response.  She just rolled her eyes and said, “I’ve got to get to class.  See you later.”

John watched her go, thinking until finally he realized how cold he was and hurried quickly back into the castle, his mind still mulling over Shaw’s words.  


	15. An Assignment

“Now, I know we worked on antidotes to uncommon poisons earlier this year, and I promised we’d get to the general antidotes before Christmas,” Professor Ingram said to begin class.  “But, as it’s Friday, and there’s a Quidditch match today, I know it would be pointless to try to teach you something new this afternoon. So we’re going to spend our class today reviewing uncommon antidotes.  You’ll find the recipe in your textbooks.  Chapter 9, section 22.  As soon as I have seen a demonstration of your antidote, you can leave.”  

That got everyone’s attention.  If executed properly, the entire process of mixing an antidote took less than an hour.  All the Gryffindor and Slytherin third years knew this, they’d practiced it for a week straight in the early Fall.  Professor Ingram was offering them a shorter class today, so long as they didn’t mess up the antidote in their haste to leave.  

Root smirked at that.  She knew at least five people in this classroom would be staying for the entire class period.  They’d miss a step or boil over their antidote in their eagerness to get out of class early.  She could see the excitement on the faces that swarmed to the front of the classroom to collect the ingredients. Students pushing and shoving, trying to get started as quickly as possible so they could leave and get ready for the match tonight.  Gryffindor against Ravenclaw, the whole school was excited for it.  Everyone agreed that these were the two best teams of the year, and the match this evening was going to be a sight to see.  Root watched the hurried students returning to their cauldrons, and stood to retrieve her own ingredients.  She wondered idly if she was going to attend this match.  

She’d never really enjoyed watching Quidditch--brooms had never been her thing, and the wizarding world’s intense fascination with the sport had done nothing to encourage her to give it a fair chance. Then again, there was something appealing to her about the idea of spending potentially several hours watching Shaw fly around on a broomstick, trying to inflict as much damage as possible onto the opposing team.

She also wondered if Harold Finch would be attending this match.  He and Reese were practically inseparable these days.  And Root had noticed Shaw hanging around them most of the time, too.  The group wouldn’t stand out to her at all if it wasn’t for the conversation she’d overheard between Professor Greer and Harold the other day in Greer’s office.  At first they’d been talking about werewolves, but then Greer brought up a project of Harold’s.  Some sort of prediction spell.  That had sparked Root’s interest.  So much that she’d accidentally nudged the door loud enough for Greer to hear.  

Fortunately, she’d managed to Disillusion herself quickly enough to avoid being caught.  And to hear the rest of their conversation.  Apparently Root’s attack had interrupted Harold’s work.  He told Greer he’d dropped the project, but Root had recognized his tone.  It was the same one she used when she lied to teachers about how much effort she put into her projects.  Harold had been talking down his own talents.  Root wondered what sort of prediction spell he’d been attempting, and if he’d been successful.  

So yes, she was keeping her eyes open for Harold and his group of friends.  

As she sat down at her own solitary workstation, Root’s eyes darted automatically to the table of Gryffindor’s near the front of the classroom.  Particularly to the seat occupied by Sameen Shaw, who was currently reading the instructions for the antidote intently.  Since their meeting in the hallway, Root had started paying extra attention to Shaw in their shared class.  And she’d noticed the precision with which Shaw mixed her potions.  She never added the wrong ingredients.  She always stirred her mixture the correct amount of times.  When cutting or slicing ingredients to add, her movements were always steady and precise.  Even now, while her fellow Gryffindors were scrambling to set up their work stations, Shaw was calm and collected, apparently unaffected by the promise of a shortened class.  Root knew that Shaw would not be one of the students to screw up her antidote due to sloppy work.  

The thought made her smile for some reason as she lit a fire under her cauldron.  Most of the other students in the dungeon were hastily chopping fire seeds and measuring out the proper amount of powdered graphorn horn and throwing it onto their mixtures.  She shook her head slightly at all of them, so eager to move on and get out of here.  There were worse classes to have at the end of the afternoon on a Friday.  They could all be in History of Magic.  That’s where the Hufflepuff fourth years had right now.

Root froze for a second at the thought, and where it had come from. She told herself firmly that she knew all of the schedules for every year and house and the fact that she’d thought about what class Hanna should be in was merely a coincidence--History of Magic _was_ Root’s least favorite class, after all.  It made sense that she would default to whatever class would be suffering through that torment at the moment.  It had nothing to do with the dreams she was still having every night.  Dreams about the library, and ghostly blue light.

Root suddenly felt eyes on her, and realized she was being watched.  

She looked up to see Sameen Shaw staring at her curiously.  Root noticed how tightly she was gripping the handle of her knife as she chopped her fire seeds.  Her fingers were white, and she wondered what her face had looked like a moment ago.  Her thoughts must have been showing, because Shaw tilted her head slightly as she held Root’s gaze, asking a silent question.  

Root wasn’t sure if she was insulted at Shaw’s unspoken indication that there was something wrong with her or if she was excited to see that Shaw was paying enough attention to notice something slightly off with her.  She decided on a bit of both.

She rearranged her face easily into a smile.  Instead of trying to address Shaw’s curiosity, Root opted for a wink and a little wave.  “Good luck, tonight,” She mouthed across the dungeon with a warm smile.  

Shaw’s eyes narrowed as she read Root’s lips.  She scowled and quickly turned her attention back to her potion, determinedly ignoring the fact that she had to know Root was still watching her.  

Root smirked as she too looked down at her cauldron.  

The class worked in almost complete silence, everyone concentrating on their potions.  Root was especially focused, because she knew this recipe like the back of her hand.  She’d spent a lot of time perfecting her poisons last year.  As such, she’d needed a large supply of antidotes, just to be safe.  The problem was that in her practice, she’d figured out a few little tricks and deviations that made the antidotes more potent, requiring a smaller dosage to counteract a poison.  Now Root had to pay special attention to make sure she didn’t fall into her muscle memory, that she followed the instructions to the letter.  No one needed to know how well she knew these potions.  

She finished her antidote first, of course.  But she waited until Professor Ingram had tested and approved five students’ products before she asked him to look at hers.  It worked perfectly of course, and she cleared her workstation and packed her bag.  She felt Shaw watching her as she left the dungeon.  The thought brought a small smile to her lips as she walked through the halls.

She wasn’t exceptionally surprised when a shadow detached itself from a wall to walk beside her in a corridor on the second floor.  She knew it was Simmons without looking at him.  He liked to play this game of stealth and secrecy, trying to surprise or intimidate his spell-runners.  Root figured it probably worked on some of the others he had working for him, but she made a point of letting him know she couldn’t be played so easily.  It annoyed him when she didn’t react, she could see it in the thin line of his lips, and hear it slightly in his voice when he spoke.

It was fun that she could rub him the wrong way so easily.  

“I’ve got an assignment for you,” he said coolly as they walked.  

“And here I thought you just missed me,” Root replied sweetly.  

She could almost hear his teeth grinding before he said, “Someone’s been asking questions about us.”

Root nodded with disingenuous sympathy. “Most people are, from what I hear.  Especially after Laskey went and got himself caught.  I hear the headmaster’s got all the prefects on the lookout for your boys.”

“Mine _and_ Elias’s,” Simmons corrects her harshly.  

Root knew for a fact that for every five Simmon’s people who were caught, only one of Elias’s were.  Elias was far more covert than Simmons was, he knew when to back off to avoid suspicion.  Simmons preferred to capitalize on the more open market, and deal with the consequences as they came.  And Root suspected that this new job her was offering her was to tidy up some of those consequences.   

“So who in particular is causing such a fuss, that you want me to deal with them?”  She asked, stopping to look out a window at the light snow that was falling.  

“Carter,” Simmons said shortly.

Root raised her eyebrows. For once, Simmons was surprising her. “You want me to attack your own Keeper?” She clicked her tongue, “Your team’s already short a Seeker, Simmons.  You really should be more careful.”

Simmons glowered, “Our backup players are fine.  Carter, however, is a problem.  She’s the one who caught Laskey the other day.  I don’t know if the kid snitched, or she figured out some other way, but she’s been asking about me specifically.  I want her taken out.”

“For how long?”  She asked.

Simmons didn’t reply.

Root frowned.  As a rule, she did her best to avoid permanent spell-casting.  Every curse she cast could be reversed--occasionally with some minor side effects, but reversible, nonetheless--given enough time.  Something permanent had happened to Hanna.  She could have fun all she wanted, but she wouldn’t sink to Trent’s level.  “I have an extended Stunning Spell,” she offered.  “It’ll knock her out for a few months.”  If Simmons was as competent as he thought he was, that should be more than enough time for him to figure out a better method to deal with Carter.  A less conspicuous method.

Not that Simmons was going to be the one coming up with that plan.  He’d never said anything but Root knew he had a partner--or maybe even a superior--in planning this whole system.  He gave orders as though they’d been rehearsed.  Whenever Root had a question that he obviously hadn’t anticipated, he’d end the meeting abruptly, then reappear later in the day with an answer.  She’d idly passed this observation onto Zoe, and together they’d adopted it as a side project, trying to deduce the identity of the real leader of Simmons’s organization in their freetime.  

Simmons didn’t look especially pleased with her offer, but he heard the finality in her tone.  He could either let her cast the spell she wanted, or he could find someone else to attack his Keeper.  He nodded, “You’d better be ready to cast it.  I want her dealt with tonight.”

“Whatever you want,” she said far too sweetly.  

“I’ll make sure you get your gold when the job is done,” Simmons replied evenly.

Root shrugged indifferently, not saying anything while he turned and stalked off.  She’d never gotten into this job for the gold.  She took these jobs for the challenge, for the fun of it.  Sure, she got paid--she kept the money she earned stored in an enchanted sack in her trunk--but she never really did anything with her accumulating wealth.  It had never interested her as much as the raw magic had.  

She stayed where she was, looking out over the snowy grounds, lost in thought.  Her eyes landed on the Quidditch pitch in the distance, and she smiled.  It looked like she’d be going to  the match after all.

****


	16. Dinner With Friends

Three more students left the dungeon before Shaw finally waved Professor Ingram to her cauldron to test her antidote.  He announced that it was perfect, to which Shaw only nodded.  Of course it was perfect, it was just an antidote.  How could anyone mess up something that simple?   Then again, she added to herself, looking around the classroom at a few of her fellow third years that were emptying out their cauldrons with dismayed looks on their faces, maybe some people were just incompetent.  

As she left the classroom, Shaw’s mind landed on someone she knew wasn’t incompetent.  For some reason, she kept thinking about Root.  

She was annoyed that the other girl had caught her staring during class, but that didn’t change the fact that Shaw had seen Root’s face suddenly go white, her hand clench around the knife she’d been holding.  She wondered what had been going through Root’s head to make her react like that.  

She wondered why she even cared.

But mostly, Shaw was interested in the fact that Root had finishing up her antidote before anyone else in their class.  But she’d waited until the smartest kids had presented their concoctions and gained approval before calling attention to herself.  Why had she done that?  It was like she was specifically trying to avoid attracting too much attention. Like she was working hard to look mediocre when, Shaw decided, she was actually probably pretty smart.  

Shaw shook her head firmly.  It didn’t matter.  She had more important things to think about.  She had to focus on the match.  

She dropped off her books in her dorm and headed down to the Great Hall for dinner.  John was already at the table, and Shaw sat down next to him, nudging him in the shoulder.  “You ready to destroy Ravenclaw?”

“I’m ready for a good match,” John said smoothly, not bothering to look up as Shaw piled her plate high with all the food she could reach.  

Shaw rolled her eyes, “Watch out, John.  Carter’s rubbing off on you.”

“I hope that’s meant to be a complement,” Carter commented, sitting down opposite them and filling her own plate.   

“I’d take it as one,” John said, smiling at her.  

Shaw rolled her eyes as she dug into a fantastic steak--those House Elves could _cook_.  “All I’m saying is you’d better be on top of your game, both of you,” she added, nodding to Carter.  

“Careful, Shaw,” John chided playfully.  “You’re gonna put Simmons out of a job.”  

Carter bit back a smile.  Then she saw the look on Shaw’s face, and apparently decided to quickly change the subject.  “So,” she said, looking between them both.  “Are you two gonna be here for Christmas?”  Next week was their last week of classes before the Holidays.  Most students were already excited for the break, talking about vacations, and presents and family whenever they weren’t talking about homework or the Quidditch match.

John nodded, “Yeah.  Our parents are travelling again.” This was a frequent situation.  As the owners of a large private security firm--one that operated successfully in both the wizarding and the muggle worlds--Mr. and Mrs. Reese were often abroad working with clients.  Shaw didn’t mind.  It made no difference to her where she was on Christmas day.  The whole holiday had always struck her as vaguely ridiculous.  She only tolerated it because she got free stuff, and it seemed important to the Reeses that she at least appear to enjoy it.  

“I thought they might be,” Carter said, nodding.  “I’m here too.”  She paused for a second before asking, almost hesitantly, “So would you guys be free for a trip to Hogsmeade sometime?”

“Definitely,” John said eagerly.  There was another pause while both of them subtly looked over at Shaw.  

Shaw rolled her eyes, “Yeah, I’ll come,” she agreed.  “But don’t worry, I’ll be glued to the Quidditch store.  You’ll be able to get your date in while still pretending it’s not a date.”  She smirked at the sight of both of their faces.  Carter was smirking, too, but blushing faintly as she looked down at her food and pointedly ignored John, who was staring at Shaw, aghast.  

Thank goodness he had the self preservation to not argue with her in front of Carter.  

They continued eating in companionable silence until the sun sank enough to tell them it was time to get ready for the match.  The three of them collected their brooms and headed down to the pitch together.  John was adjusting his Quidditch robes when Shaw approached him, holding both of their clubs.  “I was serious,” she told him.

John nodded, checking his broom one last time, “Don’t worry, Shaw.  Nothing’s going to distract me from this game.”

“I meant about Hogsmeade,” Shaw corrected him.  She nodded over to the other side of the changing room, where Carter was talking with their reserve Seeker, a girl in Shaw’s year named Schiffman.  She was good, but she had some last minute questions about tactics that Carter was apparently helping her sort out.  “And your date with Carter.”  

And she was serious.  She’d never really understood the concept herself, but she could tell that John and Carter cared for each other.  Being together made them happy.  So if Carter’s way of asking John out was phrased to include Shaw, she would go, for a little bit, to let them get comfortable.  But then she’d slip away, to the far more interesting stores in Hogsmeade and let them have their soppy moments.  Of course, she was only agreeing to this because the lovestruck puppy dog look on John’s face whenever he looked at Carter made her physically ill.  Or at least, that’s what she kept telling herself.  

She wasn’t sure John would believe that explanation, though, based on the knowing look in his eyes as he said, “Thanks Shaw.”

She rolled her eyes and handed him his club, also managing to hit him hard in the stomach with it.  “Whatever, lover boy.  Let’s do this.” 


	17. The Match

Harold had never particularly enjoyed Quidditch.  It had never demanded all of his attention like it did so many others.  He was from a pureblood wizarding family, so he’d been raised listening to his father talk about international teams, and comparing statistics and making bets for the World Cup each year.  But he was also incredibly thankful that he’d never been expected to participate in the event.  He’d gone to the first game that was played his first year.  It had been a good match, Ravenclaw against Slytherin.  His house had even won, but for Harold it had just been sitting in the stands, watching others fly around on brooms.  Nothing exceptionally exciting.  

This was the first match he’d attended since then and he was wondering if maybe knowing people on the teams somehow makes the sport more entertaining.  He knew a couple of the players on the Ravenclaw team, of course.  None of them were in his year, but either he’d help them on their homework or they’d offer him assistance and advice on his assignments--as was the way things normally worked in the Ravenclaw Common Room.  Caleb Phipps had that same look of concentration in his eyes as he guarded the goal posts as he did when Harold was talking him through a complex Transfiguration proof.  And Iris Campbell was so fast on her broom, darting this way and that in the search for the Snitch, that Gryffindor’s new seeker was almost having trouble keeping up.  

But none of that compared to Harold’s amazement at seeing John and Sameen fly together.  They worked seamlessly, each knowing what the other intended to do without needing to say a word.  Protecting their players and attacking the opposition where it’s weakest, both acting and reacting like they were born for this.  

Harold could suddenly understand how people who may not know them that well would think them twins.  He himself wondered if perhaps they had some sort of telepathic method of communication that they’d never told him about, so well did they work together.  

As Simmons managed to get the Quaffle past Phipps again--bringing the score to a tie at seventy to seventy--Harold realized he didn’t particularly care which team won.  

He was fully invested in watching, though.  Wincing when a Bludger made contact, holding his breath when a Keeper reached for the Quaffle, leaning forward as the Chasers fought over the red ball, and always keeping an eye on the Seekers, darting left and right, up and down, looking for the little golden Snitch.  

He was starting to understand why the sport was so popular.

And why it was so loud.  

Harold found himself cheering along with the crowd.  Making more noise than he would have thought a sporting event could prompt from him.  But he couldn’t help it, the spirit of it all was infectious.  He found himself on the edge of his seat, then standing on his feet, straining to see every bit of action that was happening on the pitch.  

The score was two hundred to one-seventy, Gryffindor in the lead, when a silence fell over the stadium.  Both seekers were streaking towards the Ravenclaw goal posts.  Harold held his glasses tight to his face and caught sight of a glimmer of gold fluttering a few feet off the ground.  Everyone strained to watch Schiffman and Campbell racing for the Snitch.  Even the Chasers from both teams had stopped to watch.  Nothing could distract attention away from the Seekers as they dove.

Nothing, except perhaps two jets of light--one red, one purple--shooting from the stands and slamming right into the Gryffindor Keeper.  

Time seemed to slow down.  Harold saw Carter’s body react to the dual spells, twitching and going limp.  He heard the first spectators screams as they watched her begin to fall.  He saw two red streaks shoot across the pitch as John and Shaw raced to catch Carter before she hit the ground.  He could see the exact moment Iris Campbell realized something terrible had happened, as her look of pride from catching the Snitch changed to confusion then horror at the sight of Carter seizing and jerking in her teammates' arms as they lowered her to the ground.  

Harold watched as if in a dream as the faculty members raced down to the field and took charge. Professor Control conjured up a stretcher and professor Greer helped levitate the still seizing Carter onto it.  Professor Ingram held up a large megaphone and ordered students to return to their dormitories in a calm and orderly fashion.  Harold felt the bump and bustle of his fellow Ravenclaws around him as they moved to obey.

This couldn't be real, Harold thought to himself. It wasn't happening, it couldn't be.

Struggling against the crowd, he looked down onto the pitch, his eyes falling on John's anguished face as he and Shaw were firmly pushed back by professor Control.  John looked up and met Harold's gaze, his eyes asking a silent question, _why hadn't they been warned?_

Harold froze as he asked himself the same question. It couldn't have.  He'd checked the map during his last class. There'd been nothing, no names anywhere over the school. He'd been planning on checking again after the game. But what if...

With trembling hands, Harold pulled the map out of his bag. "Please no," he whispered. Please, somehow, don't let him have made such a horrible error. Please don't let this be his fault.

He opened the map, and felt his stomach drop. Right on the Quidditch pitch, already fading, but still legible in bright blue ink, was the name Jocelyn Carter.


	18. Crossing the Line

Simmons left the changing room as quickly as he could without raising suspicion.  Reese and Shaw had changed as quickly as they could and were most likely already in the hospital wing with Carter.  Probably the rest of the team was making their way there, too.  He’d join them soon enough--have to keep up appearances, after all--but first he needed to consult with Quinn on a few matters.  

The spectators from the match were nearly all gone by this point, sent back to their rooms by a few harsh words from a professor.  No one was making eye contact with anyone, especially not Simmons.  All around him, everyone appeared to be in shock.  There had been rumors about attacks and dark magic happening in the school, but only after the sun had gone down, in the shadows.  Never had anyone expected such a bold attack in broad daylight.  Already Simmons could hear the whispers of sabotage and cheating.  They thought the attack was motivated by Quidditch.

Just like Quinn had said they would.  

Quinn had never personally met Root, but he’d heard enough about her from Simmons and a few other sources to know that she wouldn’t have the guts to hit Carter as hard as they needed.  He’d also guessed that she’d most likely try to aggravate Simmons by attacking during the match.  It had been Quinn’s idea to send in James Stills with a second spell.  

It would be Simmons’s job to explain the implications of these events to Root when he next approached her.  

The door to the classroom on his left opened suddenly and he felt himself being dragged inside.  Simmons heard the door shut behind him as he was slammed against the wall.  Root was standing in front of him, arms crossed and eyebrows knit, her wand held loosely in her hand.  Simmons tried not to be too impressed by the fact that this third year had apparently used a nonverbal spell to force him in here.  

Root glared at him.  “You hijacked my spell,” she said with barely restrained fury.  

Simmons fought the urge to smirk at the knowledge that he’d finally managed to get under this infuriating girl’s skin.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied evenly.  “You and I both know that hijacking spells is next to impossible.  Besides,” he adds, allowing just the smallest hint of his smirk to show.  “I was on the pitch.”  

He could see the smoldering fire in her eyes and decided to head off any dangerous action she might be considering, “And I’d be careful who accuse, kid.  After all, a simple Reverse Spell can prove that it was your wand that cast the spell that hit Carter.”

“One of the spells,” Root corrected him quickly.  “One of your boys cast the other one.”

Simmons nodded, not even trying to sound sympathetic, “It’s unfortunate really, that those two spells were the ones cast.  Stills’ spell shouldn’t have hurt her too bad, but when combined with your extended Stunning Spell, well...” He couldn’t help but smile, “The effects are quite poisonous.”

He felt an enormous sense of satisfaction at the sight of Root’s jaw clenching.  Finally getting this kid to understand her place was definitely worth losing his Keeper.  

“So you’ve killed her,” Root stated simply, coldly.  

“That was the job, kid, whether you like it or not,” Simmons told her.  He reached into his pocket and fished out a small bag, “But you did what you were asked, so here’s your gold.”

He tossed it to her, but Root just let it sail past her, landing with a clink on the ground.  Then she waved her wand again, in a quick, fluid motion.  Suddenly he was slammed against the wall again, and this time the force was holding him there. “I told you when you started this,” she snarled, taking a step closer to him.  “You let me cast my spells, or we’re through.”

“You did cast your spell,” Simmons pointed out, refusing to let her advanced magic intimidate him.  “We just added in one of our own to get what we wanted.” Why couldn’t she get it?  He and Quinn had goals.  She was here only to accomplish those goals for them.  If she thought she could still make demands of the people paying her, maybe he needed to teach the lesson a different way.  He wished he could reach his wand.  

Root was still glaring at him, her hand gripping her wand tightly, “You’re done, Simmons.”

Simmons clenched his fists at the obvious threat, “I’d be careful how you talk, kid.  Don’t forget that spell on your wand.  Just a few words, and you’re out for good.”

“I’d take you down with me,” Root replied, not backing down from the challenge.  

“Would you though?” Simmons challenged.  “Who do you think the staff will believe, you or the prefect accusing you?”  He and Quinn had already decided that this would be the best way to deal with any of their workers who might consider turning on them.  The professors liked Quinn, they’d listen to him.

Root froze suddenly at his words.  Then a smile crept up her lips.  “So it’s a prefect,” she said, more to herself than to Simmons.  “How interesting.”

Simmons felt suddenly that he’d given something important away, and said quickly, “I have several prefects who’d be more than happy to report you.”

Root laughed softly to herself, rolling her eyes, obviously not impressed by his hasty attempt to recover the upper hand.  She flicked her wand, and the bag of gold sailed off the floor and settled on a desk in front of Simmons. “You crossed a line today,” Root said stowing her wand in her boot and heading to the door.  “Don’t contact with me again.  Good luck keeping your organization together after this.”

Simmons scoffed, “As if you’re irreplaceable.”

Root stopped, one hand on the door.  She flashed him a confident smirk, “I guess we’ll see.”  And then she left.

The moment the door closed, the spell holding Simmons to the wall faded and he barely managed to keep himself upright at he was dropped back to the ground.  He scowled at how easily Root had managed to one up him in magic.  He pocketed the gold--no reason to leave it just lying around--and stalked out of the classroom.

He needed to talk to Quinn.  

****


	19. Goodbye

The Hospital Wing was crowded.  The whole Gryffindor Quidditch team, along with some concerned prefects and friends of Joss Carter--those brave enough to defy Ingram’s orders for everyone to return to their dormitories--had crammed into the space.  Madam Enright shot the crowd a disapproving look as Professor Greer hurried her behind the privacy curtains they’d set up around Carter’s bed.  

Shaw was positive that if the situation hadn’t been serious, Madam Enright would have shooed them all from the Hospital Wing immediately.   The thought made Shaw’s stomach clench unpleasantly.  

She looked over at John next to her and wished she hadn’t.  His face was white, his jaw was clenched, and his eyes wouldn’t stop shifting, like he was desperately looking for something to focus on, something to distract himself from the hushed and worried words coming from beyond the curtain.  

“What happened?”

“We’re not sure.  Two spells, hit at the same time.”

“It looks like the combination is producing some sort of side effect.”

“Was she like this when she landed?”

“She couldn’t even land.  Reese and Shaw had to carry her down.  She was completely unresponsive, with occasional spasms.  I gave her a Sleeping Draft while Greer went to get you and she seems to have calmed down.”

“But we don’t know what those spells were that hit her?”

“No.”

“Alright, let me look her over.  John, can you get those kids out of here?”

“Of course, Maddie.”

Professor Greer appeared from behind the curtain and looked at all of them.  “I know you’re all concerned about Miss Carter,” he told the small crowd standing near the doors.  “But we have everything under control.  Madam Enright is doing everything she can to help her, and your presence here will only serve as a distraction.”  He smiled kindly at all of them, “We will send messengers to the dormitories when we know more.”

The students around Shaw exchanged worried glances and sighs, but they moved to follow Greer’s dismissal.  Shaw’s eyes flicked to meet John’s and she knew he was thinking what she was--they weren’t going anywhere.

Greer sighed with something close to exasperation.  “That means you three, as well.”

Three?  Shaw looked around, wondering if maybe Finch had slipped in without her or John noticing.  He wouldn’t want to leave them, she knew.  But as she looked around, she saw not Harold’s familiar birdlike figure but a short stocky Hufflepuff that she vaguely recognized.  After a moment she realized she’d seen him walking with Carter some nights when she’d needed to sneak out of the castle.  

“Carter’s my partner,” the prefect told Greer firmly.  “I’m not going anywhere.”

Shaw smirked just the tiniest bit, and turned her determined gaze back to Greer, raising her eyebrows in an obvious challenge.  

Greer sighed, realizing that the three of them were definitely not going to listen to him no matter what he said.  “Very well, you can stay.  But go take a seat near the doors.  We can’t be worried about you while we’re focusing on Miss Carter.”

Shaw wanted to argue that they had better let them see Carter right now, but John put a hand on her shoulder and shook his head slightly.  “He’s right,” he told her quietly, gently pulling her to the chairs that made up the waiting area of the Hospital Wing.  Shaw let him lead her, and they sat down next to each other.  

John looked between them and quickly said, “Shaw, this is Lionel Fusco.  He’s a prefect, works a lot with Joss.  Fusco, this is-”

“Your scary sister,” Fusco interrupted, nodding.  “Yeah, I know.”

Shaw smirked at the way her reputation had apparently spread.  “Do we know who cast those spells?” She asked, her voice a deadly calm.   

“No,” the Hufflepuff prefect said, keeping his voice low so the teachers couldn’t hear.  “But I saw them being shot.  From under the bleachers, different sections of the Ravenclaw seats.  They went straight for Carter, both of them.” His face was white as he set his jaw and continued, “This wasn’t an accident.”  

Shaw nodded.  She knew this already.  How could it be an accident?  How could someone _accidentally_ attack their Keeper?  She could feel the fury radiating in her bones, along with an overwhelming need to do something.  She was going to find whoever had done this, and she was going to make them pay.  

She was just about to say as much when John suddenly hissed, “Sh!”

Shaw glared at him, _no one_ shushed her.  But then she heard it, and understood.  

The teachers were talking.  

“-don’t know what I can do,” Madam Enright was saying quietly.  “I’ve never seen anything like it before.  We need to take her to St. Mun-”

“No!” Snapped Professor Counsel.  “We go to St. Mungo’s, the press gets wind of this, and we’ll never live it down.  One of our own students attacked in front of the whole staff?  They’ll try to close the school.  You can heal her, I know you can.  It’s just two spells, after all.”

“But-”  Something rattled suddenly on the other side of the curtain.  Shaw was suddenly certain that Carter was thrashing about again.  Madam Enright’s voice didn’t hide her surprise or panic as she said, “No, she should be unconscious!  Control, Greer, hold her down!”

Shaw saw John’s hands clenching and unclenching as he forced himself to try to stay calm, but her mind was racing.  That Sleeping Draft should have knocked Carter out.  The only thing that would counteract that kind of a potion would be...

She shot up from her chair suddenly, ignoring John’s questioning, “Shaw?”  She raced behind the curtain, barely taking in the sight of Professors Greer and Control with their wands pointed at Carter, whose face was too pale, whose body was moving too harshly, too fast.  She heard someone moving beside her and didn’t have to look to know that John had followed her over.

Madam Enright whipped around to glare at her, “What are you-?”

“She’s been poisoned,” Shaw said quickly.  All four teachers froze, staring.  

Professor Counsel recovered first, “Miss Shaw, I know you want to help, but you know that’s not possible.”

“She was hit with _spells_ ,” Professor Control agreed firmly.  “She didn’t have something slipped in her drink.”

“But she’s showing all the effects of a poison,” Shaw snapped back, furious that they weren’t even listening to her when she knew she was right.  “You need to get her an antidote now-”

Professor Control glared right back at her, “I won’t have a student telling us how to do our jobs-”

“But if she’s right,” John said, almost pleadingly.  “That could save her.  Just go ask Professor Ingram-”

“John?”

Everyone froze at the sound of Carter’s weak voice, the single word forced through labored breathing.  

Instantly, John was at her bedside, pushing past Professor Control like she wasn’t even there.  He leaned down next to her, holding tight to her hand.  “I’m here, Joss,” he said, more softly than Shaw had ever heard him speak before.  “I’m here.”

Carter’s eyes were open now, but they were anxious, dilated, and scared.  Her breathing was becoming even more erratic.  “You-you’re gonna have to go to Ho-Hogsmeade for both of us.”

John squeezed her hand tighter, “I won’t have to.  I won’t have to because you’re going to make it, Joss.  And we’re going to go to Hogsmeade together.”

Carter laughed and Shaw wished she hadn’t because the act only made her trembling worse.  “Just-just promise me...” She struggled to get out.  

John leaned closer, “Anything.”

“John,” she said, sounding like she was choking.  “Don’t let this-”  Her voice failed her.  Her eyes fluttered shut.  And the hand that John was holding onto so tightly went slack.  

“No,” John whispered.  “No, Joss please.  Please.” He was crying, holding tightly to her hand, desperately begging for reality to reverse itself.  He glared up at the teachers around him, “Do something!” He shouted so loudly that everyone but Shaw took an immediate step back.

Professor Greer cleared his throat, “I’m sorry, Mr. Reese.  But there’s nothing we can do.  She’s gone.”

“No, no she can’t be,” John pleaded.  

“I’m sorry,” Professor Greer told him again sincerely, bowing his head.  

Fusco stepped past Shaw awkwardly, going to place a hand on John’s shoulder as he kneeled beside Carter’s bed, shoulders hunched and crying.  

Shaw took a step back, automatically distancing herself from the emotional turmoil.  All she felt was fury mingled with a strange emptiness.  She knew it was poison.  She knew and they hadn’t listened.  And now Carter was dead.  

She wondered why she’d even bothered trying to explain.  

She averted her gaze from the scene before her, eyes flicking over the Hospital Wing entrance.  Standing between the doors was Harold Finch.  He was looking at her with a question in his eyes.  Shaw steeled herself and shook her head.  The look of pain that rose on Harold’s face was something she’d never seen from him before.  Finch almost looked tormented as he turned and strode away from the Hospital Wing, John’s sobs echoing softly against the stone walls.

****


	20. Alone

They wouldn’t let them go to the funeral.   _They wouldn’t let them go to Carter’s funeral._

“I’m sorry, Mr. Reese,” Professor Greer said, looking across his desk at John.  “But we can’t let you and Miss Shaw leave the school without written permission from your parents.”

“But I’ve told you,” John said through gritted teeth. “Our parents are in Brazil coordinating a security system for Muggles.  They won’t be able to get any owls, and they won’t be able to give us permission.  But this is _Carter’s_ funeral.  We _need_ to go.”  The funeral was today.  It was going to start in a few hours.  This was John’s last ditch attempt to convince Greer to let them go.  They needed to be there for her.  

Greer’s face was genuinely apologetic as he nodded sympathetically, “I know, and I’m sorry.”

“Can’t Professor Counsel make an exception this time?”  John demanded.  

“We can’t set that kind of precedent,” Greer explained calmly.  “We have these rules for a reason, and if students witness us bending rules for you and Miss Shaw-”

“What students?” John snapped, slamming his hands on the desk. “It’s _Christmas_!  There’s no one here to see you bending anything!”

Greer didn’t react to John’s outburst, but he raised his hands innocently, “I’m sorry.  There’s nothing I can do.”  He paused for a moment, waiting for John to say something else.  When John remained silent, he quietly added, “Why don’t you go find you sister?  Surely she’s grieving too.  Perhaps you could comfort each other.”

John scoffed at the Head of Gryffindor’s obvious misunderstanding of Shaw.  But he stood up anyways and left Greer’s office.  He had nothing left to say.  

The castle was quiet as he walked through the halls.  When he got back to the Common Room, only a few Gryffindors were sitting in the plush armchairs.  They shot him anxious looks they didn’t think he’d notice.  Shaw wasn’t there, of course.  John figured she was still down at the pitch, where she’d spent most of her time since classes had ended.  She said she was working on her form.  

John knew she was flying so she didn’t have to think about anything else.

His dorm was empty when he opened the door and threw himself onto his bed. All the other fifth year boys had gone home.  Almost everyone had taken the train home for the holidays last week.  John had said goodbye to Harold after classes had ended.  Harold hadn’t taken Carter’s death well, either.  He’d looked shell-shocked when John said goodbye.  John hadn’t had the heart to ask him the question he really wanted to then.  

_Why hadn’t the map warned them about Carter?_

It had been over a week since the Quidditch match, since he’d been helpless to save her, since she’d been attacked.  And still he didn’t know why.  

The staff would be no help in this matter, he knew that. They'd seen the two spells as independent incidents, rather than a coordinated attack. Carter's death had been ruled an accident in the papers, a terrible side effect of too much tension among Quidditch fans.  They were adamantly defending the notion that she'd been killed over Quidditch. And though John knew that wasn't the case, he couldn't offer a better motivation for someone to attack her.  Yet.  

So he’d had to stay quiet while Professor Counsel ran the tragic story of a Quidditch accident to the press, prompting the Prophet to run an article discussing whether Hogwarts Quidditch had gone too far.  They wanted to regulate Carter’s favorite sport, _but they wouldn't let him and shaw go to her funeral._

Suddenly unable to contain his fury, he lashed out, punching the headboard of his four poster bed, shouting, “IT’S NOT FAIR!” It hurt, a lot, and he held onto that pain.  It grounded him, kept him from just floating away.  “It’s not fair,” he said again, more quietly.  

He could almost hear her laugh then.  See the knowing smirk she’d have on her face if she were here now, “Fair John?” She’d say dubiously.  “Since when has life been fair?  You’ve got to make it fair, for you and for everyone.  That’s what we were doing, right?”

He chuckled softly, blinking back tears.  “Yeah Joss.  We were.  And look where that got us.”  

In his mind, Carter sat down next to him, her smirk shifting so her face became more serious, “You know this wasn’t an accident.”

John nodded, “I know.”  

“So,” she said slowly, waving her hand in a prompting motion.  “Why would someone risk getting caught to get me out of the picture?”

John clenched his jaw.

She inched closer to him.  “Come on John,” She said soothingly.  “You know this.  Think.”

He nodded, taking a deep breath.  “It was very public,” he said slowly.  “That’s a risk, with the staff and all those prefects there.  It was important to someone to get you out of the way.”

“And what would make me that important?” She prompted gently.  

“You...” John held his hands in his head, forcing himself to _think_.  “You knew something, or you were onto something or-”  He looked up suddenly, desperate, “Joss I don’t know, I need your help-”

But there was no one there.  He was alone.  He’d been alone the whole time.

He laid back down on his bed, hands covering his face in an attempt to stave off the burning sting of the tears in his eyes.  He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that before sleep overtook him.  

At breakfast the next day, an owl flew down to the Gryffindor table where he and Shaw were eating in silence.  John recognized Harold’s handwriting on the envelope and remembered his friend’s promise to write them about the funeral.  They waited until they got back to the Common Room--still empty as most students were still enjoying a leisurely holiday breakfast--to open it.

John read the letter out loud, his voice dead and hollow.

“‘ _A large number of our classmates attended, and her whole family was there of course.  I gave them my sincerest condolences, and passed on yours as well.  I think they appreciated that.  Her mother in particular remembered that Joss had talked about you two before.  She was sorry you couldn’t make it.  Her father gave her eulogy and I think she would have liked what he had to say. I-_ ’” John stopped for a second, his voice cracking. “‘ _I wish I'd known her better. I'm so sorry.’_ ”

Shaw stood rapidly to her feet and stormed out without a word. John didn't say anything, didn't call her back or offer to go with her. Shaw had been quiet since the hospital wing. If it had been anyone else, he'd  have said she was distant.  But he’d seen her like this before.  

This was the way Shaw had acted when she’d first joined his family, after losing her own--quiet and prone to sudden departures, keeping to herself and glaring at everything.  He’d discovered that this was Shaw’s way of grieving.  He’d also learned the hard way that trying to break into her shell before she was ready would not end well for him.  

Last time he’d seen her like this, his parents and their friends had respected Shaw’s space, let her open up--as much as Shaw _did_ open up--at her own pace.  That process had taken _months_.  He felt a pang of worry for her suddenly.  She could be distant and silent now, during the holidays, but when classes began again she’d be expected to act... normal.  

John scoffed, taking a moment to feel sorry for the poor sap who might try to get Shaw to open up before she’s ready.  

He sighed, leaning back into the armchair and looking at Harold’s letter, still held in his hand.  “Why?” He asked to the empty room.  “Why did they take you from me?  What were you onto, Carter?”

**He didn’t know.  But he was going to find out.**


	21. Lightning

Shaw spent every free moment she had over the holidays on her broom.  She pushed herself, hard, riding faster than she’d ever flown before, pulling tighter turns, deeper dives, and faster laps.  She flew until she could barely hold onto her broom, and then she stayed an hour longer.  Only when she could barely stand did she walk back to her dorm and collapse onto her bed.  

She kept busy, she kept focused.  That way, she wouldn’t have to think.  

And Shaw didn’t want to think.  She didn’t want to think about the fact that the teachers hadn’t listened to her.  That their ignorance had cost Carter her life.  She didn’t want to think about the fact that the school had kept her from attending her friend’s funeral.  Or the way John looked so empty and sad, and no matter what she did, she’d never understand what he was feeling.  

It was worse after the holidays, with all the students back in the castle, talking and joking and laughing together like nothing was wrong.  It made her sick to watch.  

She kept quiet in her classes, speaking only when called on.  She didn’t talk during Quidditch practice.  She did her homework as quickly as she could and shut herself up in her dorm.  

This was her routine for two weeks, until one night, about an hour or two before moonrise, she slipped out of the Common Room as quietly as she could.  This was earlier than she normally left, but given everything that’s been happening this year, the prefects had increased the frequency of their patrols.  She didn’t want to run into any of them tonight, and she didn’t know these new routes as well as she’d like, so she was giving herself plenty of time to get out of the castle tonight.  

In a sixth floor corridor, she traced her wand around the border of a brick in the wall.  As she did, the wall faded away to reveal a secret staircase that she took down to the fourth floor.  She peeked out the entrance to make sure there were no prefects around.  She didn’t see anyone and she slipped into the hall.  She was almost at the end of the hall when suddenly there was a flash of blue light behind her.  

Shaw froze, wondering for a moment if maybe she imagined it.  She waited a moment.

The flash came again, accompanied by a kind of crackling noise.  

After a few moments of internal debate, Shaw gave in to her curiosity and turned around.  The light was coming from around the corner.  She approached quickly, and looked around just in time to barely dodge an arc of lightning shooting toward her, so close she could feel her hair stand on end.  

“What the _hell_?” She shouted, jumping back.

The bright lightning had burned into her retinas, making it impossible for her to see in the dark of the corridor.  But she still heard the voice coming from a few feet to her left that said curiously, “Shaw?”

Shaw’s stomach twisted and she couldn’t be quite sure why.  She recognized that voice.  “Root?” She said, blinking rapidly to clear her sight.  After a few moments she could indeed make out the outline of the Slytherin girl, sitting against the wall at the dead end of the hall, with a book open in her lap, her wand in her hand.  

Root was looking at Shaw with a bemused expression.  “What are you doing out and about?”

Shaw raised her eyebrows, “I could ask you the same question.  What the hell _was_ that?”

Root smirked, “Just a little project of mine.”

“Lightning?” Shaw asked dubiously.  

Root shrugged, “It’s just energy.  Like any other form of magic.  I think I can tie it to a stunning spell.  Make a kind of tasing hex.”

“That doesn’t sound very legal,” Shaw comments, doing her best to hide how impressed she was at the fact that Root was spending her nights casually inventing spells.  It seemed she’d been right with her thoughts that this girl was smarter than she seemed.  

“It’s perfectly legal if I say it’s for research purposes,” Root explained easily.  “If I say I’m not going to use it on anyone.”  

“Uh huh,” Shaw said doubtfully.  For some reason, she highly doubted that Root wouldn’t use this spell on anyone.  There was something dangerous in the other girl’s smile as she talked about it.  “So, is this a normal thing for you?  Just making up new spells?”

“From what I hear, I’m not the only one,” Root chuckled.  “And it’s a bit more of a process than that.  It took me most of the holidays to figure this one out, Sameen.”

“It’s Shaw,” Shaw corrected her automatically, while some part of her mind realized that she had seen Root around the castle over the vacation. She frowned, wondering why she’d even noticed it, then crossed her arms and looking down at Root.  “But if you can do this in two weeks, why aren’t you top of our class?  Everything we do in class should be easy compared to inventing your own spells.”

Root smiled like she’d just heard a joke that only she understood.  “Things aren’t always that simple, _Shaw_ ,” she said, not quite meeting Shaw’s eyes.  

Shaw cocked her head curiously at Root’s almost nostalgic tone.  But before she could ask anything, Root’s eyes snapped back to meet hers.  “I’m sorry about Carter,” she said quietly.  

Shaw’s fists clenched on their own accord.  She felt like she’d been hit with Root’s lightning spell.  A bolt of fury jumped up her spine as she said coldly, “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“I know what it’s like to lose someone suddenly,” Root said in that same quiet tone.  “If there’s anything I can do...” She let her words trail off with a shrug.  

“There’s not much to do now,” Shaw said scathingly.  “Unless you can point me to the bastards that attacked her.   _Then_ I might ask for that tasing hex.”

Root gave a huff of laughter and smiled to herself while closing the book she was still holding.  She placed it back in her pack and stood up.  “There’s a prefect on his way here,” she said in response to Shaw’s curious look.  “Patrol passes here at the same time every night.  I normally move to the Divination Tower around now.  They’ve cleared that area for the night.”

“You really know their schedules,” Shaw commented, again doing her best to remain unimpressed.  

Root shrugged, “I like my privacy.”

Shaw could respect that.  “Still that’s a lot of work, moving so much each night.  Why not just practice in the library?  No one ever patrols in there.”

Root bit her lip and her eyes darted to the floor, “I don’t like it there.”  She adjusted her bag strap on her shoulder, “We should go before we’re caught.”  She walked past Shaw, but after a few steps she stopped and turned back around, a small smirk on her face again.  “You know, I don’t know about you, but your captain doesn’t seem too torn up about the loss of his Keeper.  Just something to think about.”  

Shaw watched her disappear down the hall, thinking.  Was Root saying that _Simmons_ was somehow involved with Carter’s attack?  It was true, he’d been pretty quick to find a replacement for Carter.  But would he really get someone to shoot spells at her?  To kill her?

The sight of wandlight shining at the end of the hall snapped Shaw out of her thoughts.  She’d need to talk to John and Finch about this.  But right now, she should probably go.  

It was only after Shaw had made it to the first floor and opened up the tunnel behind the statue of Merlin that she realized that her exchange with Root had been the first willing conversation she’d had since Carter died.  


	22. An Invitation and a Realization

John honestly didn’t know if he was disappointed or not when he entered the library and didn’t see Harold sitting at any of the tables.  On one hand, he was relieved.  Because no matter how many times he told himself that the map wasn’t perfect, and it had still helped them save a number of students, he didn’t trust it any more.  How could he, when it had failed him so completely?  For every student they saved, how many did it miss?  How many Carters had there been since they’d started this ‘saving people’ business?  

On the other hand, he still enjoyed Harold’s presence.  Especially since he had a huge Transfiguration paper to work on.  Having his friend around would not only make the task more enjoyable, it would likely also help him finish the paper a lot faster.  Harold had a habit of proofreading John’s papers while he was writing them, and offering bits and pieces of advice on things to add and ways to phrase his thoughts.  

John sighed.  As it was, this paper would likely take him a few hours to complete.  He had Quidditch practice later, so he might as well get started now.  

He was just starting his second page when he heard someone sit down across from him.  He looked up, expecting to see Harold’s anxious face--honestly, this paper was giving him such trouble he’d almost be glad for the name of a student to save.  But it wasn’t Harold sitting across from him.  

It took John a moment to recognize the boy, but he finally remembered the day by the greenhouses.  This was the boy Laskey had been attempting to curse.  What had he said his name was?  

“Elias, right?” He asked, finally remembering.  

Elias nodded, “Nice to see you again, John.  I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while, to thank you properly for that incident by the greenhouses.  But given the events that transpired so quickly after...” He let his words trail off.  “I thought it might be best to give you your space for a while.  But I am truly grateful for what you did.”

“Really, it was no trouble,” John said adamantly.  

“You saved my life,” Elias insisted.  

“I doubt that,” John replied, somewhat uncomfortable with all the praise.  “I’m sure Madam Enright would have been able to reverse the effects of that jinx.  It just would have really been unpleasant-”

“I’m throwing a party next week,” Elias interrupted.  “Me and some friends, getting together to celebrate the new year, and get ready for our N.E.W.T.s in a few months.  I’d like you to come, as a thank you.  You can bring your sister, too.  I owe her a debt as well.”

John raised his eyebrows.  He wasn’t a stranger to parties at Hogwarts.  After all, he was a star Quidditch player.  He’d celebrated many victories with smuggled in butterbeer and sweets from the house elves in the kitchens.  He’d been invited to more non-house parties than he could remember, held in open dungeons or large empty lecture halls when students needed to let loose a little.  

John couldn’t remember ever hearing anything about Elias throwing parties, but that didn’t really surprise him.  Elias struck him as an individual who liked to keep himself private.  If he didn’t want people to know about a party he was throwing, no one would hear about it.  

He wondered what friends of Elias would be like.  

As though he was thinking the same thing, Elias added, “And if there’s anyone else you’d like to bring along with you, you’re more than welcome to bring a friend or two.”

“That’s very kind of you,” John said.  And it was true.  This whole gesture was incredibly gracious.  However, John hadn’t had anyone he’d wanted to bring to a party since Kara had left him.  He was about to politely decline this second offer when he had a sudden image of Harold and Shaw both standing in a crowd of unfamiliar people, being forced to socialize.  The thought was so amusing that he couldn’t help himself, “Actually I do have this one friend.  Harold probably won’t be busy.  I’ll ask him if he’d like to come.”

Elias cocked his head to the side, “Harold?” He repeated.  “Harold Finch?”

“You know him?” John was used to people knowing himself, yeah.  But not Harold.  Harold tended to keep to himself much more.

“Of course,” Elias said smoothly.  “I like to know the names of the top of each year in the school.  Especially those who are in my house.”

Oh that’s right, John thought to himself.  He’d forgotten that Elias and Harold were in the same house.  They must have seen each other in their Common Room before.  “So you won’t mind if I bring him, too?” He asked.  

Elias seemed to be thinking.  John wondered if maybe he didn’t want Harold there and was thinking of some polite way to tell John no.  But after a moment, he said, “Oh-Of course.” He shook his head, “Please don’t mind me.  My mind is going everywhere these days as I get closer and closer to leaving the school.”

John nodded sympathetically, “It’s going to be a big change.”

Elias smiled, “You have no idea.”

“Well,” John said, checking his watch.  “Thank you for your invitation, Elias.  I’ll be sure to ask Harold and Shaw about it.  But right now, I have practice, so I’ve got to go.”  He started packing up his things.  

“Of course, of course,” Elias said, standing up.  “Thank you again, John.  Good luck at practice.  And may I say I’m so sorry about what happened to Carter.”

John froze as he felt a knife slice into his stomach at the mention of her name.  “Thanks,” he said shortly, not looking back as he left the library.  

He dropped off his bag in his dorm and grabbed his broom.  He was the last one in the changing room, but he _technically_ wasn’t late.  Shaw looked up when he entered--slightly out of breath--and rolled her eyes.  She had his bat out and ready for him, as had become their routine these days.  He changed quickly and took his bat from her just as Simmons called them out onto the pitch.  

“Okay guys,” Simmons said as they all huddled together for warmth in the biting Winter wind.  “I think our new players are really learning the ropes now, so we’re going to do a scrimmage.  Schiffman, I’m going to let the Snitch out for you.  Grice, we’re going to be actually trying to score against you, so guard those hoops.  Reese, Shaw, I’m going to let the Bludgers out.  For a while just let them zoom around, okay?  No defending.  I want to see how the team works dodging Bludgers on their own.” John and Shaw exchanged a curious look, but nodded as Simmons continued, “I want you two to watch our form while we practice for a while.  See if there’s any holes in our techniques, anything we could improve.  I know our match against Hufflepuff is more than a month away, but we could still win the cup if we beat them by more than three hundred points.  That means we need to work together completely and cohesively.  Understand?”  The whole team nodded eagerly.  “Good!  Then let’s go!”

And with that, the whole team took off.  

John and Shaw kept close together while the rest of the team spread out to begin the scrimmage.

“Grice isn’t that bad,” Shaw commented as the second year managed to stop one of Simmons’s attempted goals and threw it back to the captain.

“No he’s pretty quick,” John agreed, watching the kid zip out of the way of a speeding Bludger.  John was gripping his broom tightly in order to resist the urge to fly after the Bludger as it sped off towards Schiffman.  He wasn’t used to this--sitting around and doing nothing while others could get hurt.  He looked over at Shaw and knew she was feeling the same thing.  Her jaw was clenched and her gloved hands were gripping tightly on her broomhandle.  This wasn’t in their nature.  They were protectors, both of them.  They needed to be out with the team, protecting the others so they can do their jobs.  

“Hey,” Shaw said suddenly, sounding like she was trying very hard to distract herself from their situation.  “Has Simmons seemed... off, lately?”

“What do you mean?” John asked, wincing as Simmons barely dodged another bludger.  

She stayed quiet for a moment, like she was debating how to say what she was thinking, “Do you remember last year when I had to miss one of his late, late night practices?”

John nodded slowly, “Yeah I thought he was going to hex you right then and there when you said you wouldn’t be able to make it.”

Shaw smirked.  “I would have liked to see him try,” she muttered.  “But that’s just what I’m saying.  He was ready to _kill_ me for explaining that I was going to miss _one_ practice.  He hated any kind of disruption of his order on the team.”

“Where are you going with this, Shaw?” John asked, not liking the way Shaw was shooting daggers across the pitch at their captain.

But before she could answer, Simmons blew his whistle to signal that the Beaters should join in the game.  Eager to join in, John and Shaw sped towards their teammates, their conversation forgotten for the moment.  They spent the next few hours knocking Bludgers towards and away from their teammates, giving them the space they needed to really work on the forms and moves.

Finally, Simmons announced that they were done for the night and dismissed them.  “Good job everyone,” he said confidently.  “Keep up this work and we can still win the cup.” He clapped Grice on the shoulder before propping his broom on his shoulder and walking off.

John watched him go, his mind jumping back to what Shaw had said.  He put away his bat and changed, grabbing his broom and walking over to Shaw who was polishing her Lightningbolt’s handle.  “Shaw,” he said, making sure his tone was serious.  “What were you talking about on the pitch?”

Shaw looked up at him, and glanced around the changing room.  They were the only ones left in there.  She set her broom down and looked John straight in the eye.  “Simmons was ready to jinx me, for telling him ahead of time that I was going to miss practice last year.  And now this year, we’ve had to call in two backup players.   _Carter died,_ and they’re blaming Quidditch for it.  And he’s barely been fazed.  He let Schiffman know she’d be our new Seeker a few days after Laskey got caught.  Then he called in Grice to be our new Keeper the instant he got back from break.

“It’s like he was counting on it,” Shaw continued, her tone even but anger burning in her eyes.  “It’s like he knew we were going to lose them.”

John felt his fists clench as fury began to bubble inside him.  Because Shaw was right.  The Simmons from last year would be having panic attacks at the thought of losing two team members halfway through the season.  Yet he hadn’t said a word to the team about Carter since the match against Ravenclaw.  And he didn’t even look at Laskey--who was on probation and serving detention with Professor Control every night for the rest of the school year--when they passed in the hallways.  

“He knew about the attacks,” John said slowly.  “Both of them, Laskey attacking Elias and Carter being attacked.  He’d known about both of them.”

“Yeah,” Shaw nodded, packing up her polishing equipment and standing up.  “And now I’m going to find the scumbag and jinx him within an inch of his life.”  She stormed out the door.

“Wait-Shaw!” John raced after her and grabbed her shoulder.  She whirled around, glaring up at him.  He removed his hand quickly but kept talking, “We have to be smart about this.”

Shaw raised her eyebrows, “Don’t tell me you’re going to let him get away with letting Carter be killed.  I thought you’d be with me on this, John.”

John nodded, “I am.  Trust me, I am.  But-”

“Then let’s go get him,” Shaw interrupted, her foot tapping impatiently.  “You know the prefects and the staff won’t believe us.  But we _know_.  We can get payback for Carter.”

Against his better judgement, John allowed himself to consider the possibility.  Him and Shaw, together, going to track down Simmons and make him pay for what he’d done, what he’d cost them.  He felt something terrifying rise up inside him at the thought, demanding violent retribution for Carter’s death, for all the promises that had been whisked away from him.  They could do it, and no one but them would know.  But he’d have his revenge.  

For just a moment, he was so tempted to say yes.  But then- “What about all of the others who have been attacked this year?” He asked.  “Simmons couldn’t have done that all on his own.  He’s got to know who’s planning it all, though.”  It was tearing him apart to say it.  To decline the offer of justice handed to him to perfectly.  But he knew what Carter would say.  She’d say it wasn’t justice, it was revenge, and she wouldn’t want that from him.  So he forced down his anger and continued, “Simmons can lead us to whoever’s behind the attacks.”

Shaw looked almost more disappointed in this plan than he was.  “So we do nothing?” She snapped.

“No,” John assured her.  “We talk to Harold, see if he agrees with us.  Then we watch Simmons.  See who he talks to, who he’s working with.  We figure this out, we get proof, and get the staff to take them down.”  He stopped suddenly, noticing her mutinous expression, “Shaw, promise you won’t go after him yourself.”

She stayed silent, glaring down at the ground.  

“ _Shaw_.”

“Fine,” She snapped, looking up at him again.  “But this had better be worth it.”  Without saying anything else, she stormed off back up to the castle.

John watched her go, “I really hope it is.” He said quietly to himself.  


	23. Two Names

Harold wasn’t pleased to hear that the Gryffindor Quidditch captain might be behind all of the attacks that he, John, and Shaw had been preventing all year, but he couldn’t deny that Simmons’s behavior was at least somewhat suspicious.  

The three of them spent the better part of the next week tailing Simmons whenever they could.  But with exams slowly approaching, their class schedules sometimes had all three of them so busy that there were small gaps of time when none of them knew what Simmons was doing.  So even after a week, they were still no closer to figuring out how the attacks were coordinated, or if Simmons was involved in them at all.  

“Well you know what might help,” Shaw said moodily as they sat around their table in the library that Friday evening.  They’d been trying to do their homework as quickly as possible these past few days, but she was having trouble staying focused.  “If I cut Potions or Muggle Studies-”

“We’ve already discussed this, Miss Shaw,” Harold said firmly, not looking up from his Transfiguration Textbook.  “If you’re caught skipping classes, you will get in a lot of trouble and not only would you face possible detention, but I might have to pull you from map duties if you start drawing too much attention to yourself.”

Shaw snorted, “And just how would you have stopped that idiot guy from jinxing that girl last night?”

“I’m sure we would have figured out something,” Harold replied shortly.  Shaw had indeed saved another name last night, sending a weak stunning spell at the leg of the sixth year boy who had apparently been sent to jinx Maxine Angelis.  The spell hadn’t been strong enough to knock the guy out, so he’d just tripped in the hallway, while the Maxine walked away, oblivious to the danger she’d been in.  “Perhaps a less violent method,” Harold added.  The attempted perpetrator had broken his nose oh the stone floor, after all.  

Shaw rolled her eyes, “Whatever.  Where’s Simmons now?  Why aren’t we following him?”

“He has Apparition training with all the other sixth years tonight,” John replied, looking over his own Transfiguration essay.  “We’re off the clock until sundown.”

“Then he’ll likely go back to your Common Room,” Harold added.  “You have an early Quidditch practice tomorrow, don’t you?”

Shaw groaned, “Don’t remind me.”  

“Come on, Shaw,” John said, smirking and nudging his sister’s arm.  “It could be fun.  We’ll definitely be keeping an eye on Simmons.”

“And missing breakfast,” Shaw spat.  “To spend hours out in subzero temperatures.”  She shook her head, “All I can say is lunch tomorrow had better be fantastic.”

John smirked over at Harold, and he smiled back.  They were both somewhat intimidated and impressed by Shaw’s impressive appetite.  “And don’t forget, Elias’s party is tomorrow evening.”

Harold’s brow furrowed somewhat at the mention of the party.  Harold didn’t know Elias personally, but he knew of him.  Harold had never really been a social person, and the idea of spending a few hours with Elias and his friends did not appeal to him.  But John had said they would go, so Harold would grin and bear it.  At least, until he could think of a good excuse for leaving early.  He turned his eyes back to his book, before the paper tucked underneath the cover caught his attention.  

Harold took out the map and unfolded it quickly.  

A name was writing itself onto the map in one of the empty dungeon classrooms.  Harold looked up as John, wondering if their conversation had prompted something.  “It’s Elias,” he said, showing John the map.  

John’s eyes narrowed, “Is there a time?”

Harold shook his head, “No, that means-”

“It’s happening soon,” John finished, packing up his bag.  “We need to go, now.”  

John was already out the door by the time Harold and Shaw scrambled to pack up their belongings and race after him.  Harold thought he felt something shift in his bag, but he was too focused on catching up to John to check.  It was dim in the hallways of the castle.  The sun was just setting outside, and Harold knew that the Prefect patrols would be starting any minute now.  They were rounding the stairs to the second floor when someone shouted at them, “Hey slow down!  Where’s the fire?”

All three of them stopped suddenly at the words of Lionel Fusco, standing at the foot of the stairs, wand lit and pointed at them.  He lowered his wand as he recognized Shaw and John.  “Oh it’s you two again,” He muttered, shaking his head.  

“Hello Lionel,” John said coolly.

“Someone else in trouble?” Fusco asked.  “Gotta admit, I was worried you guys had closed up shop after what happened to Carter-”

“I hate to interrupt, but we are on a strict timetable,” Harold interjected.  

Fusco’s eyes darted to him for the first time, “Who’s Glasses?”

“A friend,” John explained shortly.  “And he’s right.  Come on, Lionel, we might need your help.”

He waved them onwards.  Harold was about to follow, when he realized he was still holding the map.  He was about to tuck it back into his bag, when he stopped.  “I believe we have a problem.”

John, Shaw, and Fusco, all of whom had been continuing towards the dungeons, stopped and turned to look at him as he said, “There’s another name.”

“What?” Shaw was at his side in an instant, reading over his shoulder the name written right by the library on the map.

Samantha Groves.

“Shit,” Shaw muttered.

“Indeed, Harold agreed.  “I think it might be best for us to split up to cover both of these.”

“Right,” John agreed.  “Harold and I will go help Elias.  Shaw, you take Lionel to go after this Samantha.”

Shaw looked like she wanted to argue, but Samantha Groves’s name didn’t have a time by it either, which meant that she too was in imminent danger  They didn’t have time to argue.  So she just nodded, looking unhappy with the situation.  

“Take the map, Shaw,” John added, nodding from Harold to Shaw.  “Just in case someone else’s name comes up.”

Shaw nodded, and tucked the map into her bag.  

Fusco looked between them, “What’s so important about this map?”

Harold had just enough time to notice Shaw’s eyes rolling before he turned to follow after John.  


	24. Nightmares

Root was sitting at a table in the library, reading her Charms book intently.  Professor Claypool had told them they would be starting Levitation Charms next class period, and she wanted to make sure she had the swish and flick down perfectly.  

“Hey, watch it,” Laughed the person sitting next to her.  “You’re going to poke someone’s eye out if you’re not more careful, Sam.”

Root smiled sheepishly at her friend, “Sorry, Hanna.  I just want to get it right.”

“I don’t think you can get much _more_ right than you are right now,” Hanna told her.  “Your form is already better that my entire class’s was last year.  Probably better than some of them now.  Definitely better than mine.”

“Don’t say that,” Root told her quickly.  “You’re a good witch.”

Hanna rolled her eyes, “Yeah, but not as good as you are.  Which is fine by me,” she added quickly, knowing that Root was about to continue arguing.  “You’re brilliant, Sam, but being top of the class has never been a goal of mine.” She smiled over at Root, “Just don’t forget about me when you’re off being the greatest witch of our time.”

Root did her best to ignore the swooping sensation in her stomach--not unlike the feeling she’d experienced a few months ago when she’d first ridden a broomstick--at the sight of Hanna’s smile.  “I could never forget you, Hanna,” she felt a flush rise in her face the moment the words left her lips.  

But Hanna just chuckled and turned her attention back to her own homework, trying to transfigure a beetle she’d been given into a button.  Root followed suit, digging out her Potions book and starting on the essay Professor Ingram had assigned for next week.  They worked in a comfortable quiet, interrupted only by the scratch of Root’s quill, and Hanna’s muttered spells, until Hanna threw her wand on the table suddenly.  “Augh!” She huffed in exasperation, holding her head in her hands.  “I just can’t do it!”

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” Root said hesitantly, noting the tears of frustration welling up in Hanna’s eyes.  She skimmed through Hanna’s notes quickly.  “Here,” She scooted a little closer, and calmly handed Hanna her wand back.  “I think you’ve been focusing too much on the motion, and not enough on the magic.  See,” she felt a tingle of electricity shoot through her as she wrapped her hand around Hanna’s to adjust the other girl’s wand grip.  “When you’re too focused on _doing_ it right, you can get too rigid and actually hold back your magic.  Loosen your grip a little, clear your mind, and try again.”

She let go of Hanna’s hand and watched as her friend took a deep breath and adjusted her grip on her wand.  She fixed her sight on the beetle again, but this time her gaze was slightly calmer.  She tapped the beetle with her wand and muttered the spell, and the next instant, a shiny new button was spinning on the table before them.  

“I did it!” Hanna shouted, before remembered where they were and lowering her voice.  “I did it, Sam!  I made a button!”

“Well, you didn’t technically _make_ it-” Root started, but her words stopped quickly as Hanna pulled her into a sudden hug.  She felt her whole body tense at the contact.  Her heart was suddenly beating very fast.  

“Thank you,” Hanna said, pulling back from the hug to look Root in the eye again.

Root shrugged, her heart still racing.  “I didn’t really do anything,” she muttered.  

“You told me how to do it in a way that Professor Control didn’t,” Hanna said firmly.  She had a satisfied kind of smirk on her lips as she continued, “I told you you’re a great witch, Sam.”  

“Yeah,” Root laughed.  “You _did_ say that.”  

They sat there, looking at each other, but neither saying anything, for a few moments.  Then Hanna bit her lip, “Hey, uh, Sam?”

“Yeah?” Root asked, far too quickly.  

Now Hanna was looking almost sheepish, “I was wondering-”

“Hey Hanna!”

Both girls jumped at the sound of a new voice near them.   They looked up to see Trent Russell, a sixth year Slytherin boy, standing next to their table.  

And he had eyes only for Hanna.  

Hanna looked up at him, somewhat confused, “Trent?  What are you doing here?”

He grinned easily, leaning on the table, “I was looking for you, actually.  I was wondering if you could help me with a project.”

The girls exchanged a curious look, wondering what kind of project a second year could help a sixth year with.  “We’re kind of studying right now,” Hanna said as pleasantly as she could.  

“Oh come on, it’ll only take a few minutes,” Trent promised smoothly.  

“What will?” Hanna asked.  

Trent shrugged, and took a few steps closer to Hanna, putting a hand on her shoulder, “Just come with me to a classroom so I can ask you a few questions.  It’s for my Muggle Studies paper.”

“Why can’t she answer the questions here?” Root asked pointedly.  

Trent rolled his eyes and turned his attention to her for the first time, “I wouldn’t expect a first year to know how we older students write our papers.  But if you have to know, it’s part of keeping a controlled environment.  All of my interviews are being held in the same classroom.”

“Really?” Root asked doubtfully.  “And how many other students have you interviewed so far?”

Trent balled his fists, “Are you looking for trouble, firstie?”

“I’m a naturally curious person,” Root responded coolly, glaring at him.  

“Hey, calm down,” Hanna said quickly, standing up between the two of them.  She sighed, “This won’t take long, Trent?”  

He nodded.  

“Okay,” Hanna looked pointedly at Root, “I’ll be back in a bit, Sam, okay?”

Root didn’t like it.  Something didn’t feel right.  But she just smiled and nodded and watched Hanna leave the library, led by a smug-faced Trent.  Hanna stopped at the doors to look back and smile at Root before Trent nudged her to continue, shutting the doors behind them.  

The moment they closed, Root remembered.  She jumped to her feet and raced to the doors.  “No Hanna don’t go with him!” She shouted, pounding on the closed doors.  “Come back!  He’s going to kill you!”  Her hands were going numb, “He’s going to kill you, Hanna, and I can’t stop him!”  Her attacks on the door slowed to a stop, and she leaned up against the stubborn doors, sobbing.  “Please come back.  I should have never let you go with him.  I’m sorry... Don’t leave me.”  

The doors swung open suddenly, throwing Root off balance as she wavered not in front of a castle corridor, but looked down into a teeming bottomless black void.  She tried to regain her balance, but it was no use, she tumbled down, down, down, through the black.  

She wasn’t sure how long she fell, and she wasn’t quite aware of ever landing.  But she suddenly found herself on her feet in the darkness, surrounded by a glowing blue mist.  The light swirled around her, feeling like a warm, calming breeze.  She wasn’t sure how, but this was the closest thing Root had felt to home in a long time.  

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the light vanished, leaving Root alone again in the dark.  

But _was_ she alone?  She heard footsteps behind her, and whirled around to face whoever was with her in the dark.  

Joss Carter was standing in front of her, arms crossed, eyes boring into her.  She looked Root up and down, “So this is who they got to kill me?” She asked.  “Huh.  I figured you’d at least be scarier.”

Root woke from her dream with a start, sitting straight up in her bed.  It took her a few moments of frantic breathing to remind herself that she was back in reality.  None of it had been real.  She was okay.  

She looked around her dorm.  It was mostly empty, but Martine and Harper were trading Chocolate Frog Cards on Harper’s bed.  Root could see in the smirk on Martine’s face that she’d screamed again in her sleep.  Great.  She’d gone to bed early that evening in an attempt to catch up on lost sleep.  Apparently _that_ plan wasn’t going to work out.  She got out of bed, and pulled on some muggle clothes--she preferred them to robes any day.  She grabbed her book bag and wand, and left the dorm, ignoring Martine’s smug giggle behind her.  

The Common Room was still pretty full, Root figured curfew was just about to set in.  But she decided she didn’t care who saw her leave tonight.  She just wanted to get out of here for a while.  

“I thought you went to bed,” Zoe commented calmly as Root passed by.  

Despite herself, Root slowed to a stop, “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Bad dreams again?” Zoe asked coolly, closing her History of Magic textbook.  

Root eyed her curiously, “How did you-”

“Martine’s a bit of a blabbermouth,” Zoe told her distastefully.  “I heard her complaining about you a few days ago at breakfast.  Apparently you’ve woken your whole dorm a few times.”

“I should have known she wouldn’t keep that quiet,” Root muttered.  

“Anything you want me to do?” Zoe asked with a dangerous glint in her eye.

Root sighed, sitting down on the arm of Zoe’s chair, “No, she’s not worth it.”  She thought about Carter’s face in her dream, “I have bigger things to deal with anyways.”

Zoe nodded, “Speaking of which, you might want to keep an eye out for the next few days.  From what I hear, Simmons has got it out for you.”

Root perked up slightly at the news, “Really?”

“Apparently he thinks you stopped some revenge jinx he coordinated last night,” Zoe continued, watching Root closely.  

Root smiled.  She had, of course, done no such thing.  She of all people could appreciate the desire for revenge.  But she did know how had stopped that jinx.  She’d been on her way to enter the Great Hall last night when she noticed Sameen Shaw stealthily stun the leg of a boy she knew worked for Simmons.  She’d watched the boy trip, smashing his face in the ground, and she’d noticed the satisfied expression on Shaw’s face as she’d looked around to make sure no one had seen her, before walking off.  

“If it helps, Zoe,” She said sweetly.  “I didn’t do it.”

Zoe waved her words aside, “Of course you didn’t.  If you wanted revenge on Simmons, you’d destroy him completely, not attack his workers in some petty show of rebellion.  But that doesn’t change the fact that Simmons seems to think you have some sort of vendetta against him.”  Her last words were spoken with a skeptical expression.

“Hm,” Root pretended to think hard.  “I wonder what would have given him that impression,” she said innocently.

Zoe--who knew all about how Root had cornered Simmons after Carter’s attack and the subsequent threats she’d given him--rolled her eyes.  “Just be careful, okay?  We still don’t know who his partner is and that makes them both very dangerous.”

This was true.  After months of quiet investigation, they still had no leads on Simmons’s partner.  Root honestly didn’t know whether she was frustrated with their lack of progress, or intrigued to discover that there was someone else in the school who kept a level of anonymity even higher than her own.  

That didn’t change the fact that she _was_ going to find out who the partner was.  Their impressive ability to keep their identity hidden only made the challenge more interesting to Root.  

Almost as interesting as her own personal project.  “So you don’t know who did stop that attack last night?” She asked idly.  

Zoe shook her head, “No, but I think whoever they are, they’re also the ones who have been interrupting Elias’s duels, and a lot of Simmons’s other spell-runners.  They fit the same pattern, at least, someone’s about to be attacked, then a mysterious person that no one can later identify, shows up, saves them, and hands them over to the prefects.”  She stares at the fire crackling in the fireplace in front of them.  “I just can’t figure out how they always know.  We know none of Elias’s men have talked, and I don’t think any of Simmons’s people would be aware of Elias’s attacks, too.  So whoever they are, they’ve got to have some sort of external way of knowing what’s going to happen.”

Root felt her brow furrow, “Like some sort of prediction spell?”

Zoe considered for a moment, “Maybe.  But a spell that would predict _everything_...” She shook her head, “I don’t think that kind of powerful spell exists.”

Maybe not, Root thought to herself, but it had definitely been someone’s project last year.  

She thought for a few moments, absorbing everything that Zoe had told her, then she nodded, standing up.  “Well, I’ve got studying to do,” she announced.

“I figured as much,” Zoe responded with a smirk.  “Have fun, and don’t blow anyone up, okay?”

Root smiled right back, “I won’t make any promises.”  And with that, she slipped out of the door.  

She didn’t really know where she was going, and honestly she didn’t care.  Her mind was too busy to work on spells tonight.  But she still wanted to be alone, she needed to think.  So she let her feet wander, just as her mind did the same.  

Root had continued her monitoring of Harold and his little band of misfits and the way they always seemed to know when something bad was going to happen.  She wondered if they’d taken to putting Memory Charms on those they saved, to keep anyone from discovering what they do.

Because knowing what they do would lead to questions of _how_ they do it.  And Root suspected that none of them wanted to explain Harold’s “project” if it really had been successful.  

Still, last night, Shaw had known someone was in danger before anything actually happened, and she’d stopped it.  Just like Harold and John had appeared when Root had been about to curse Denton Weeks.  And Root was sure that the three of them were behind several of Simmons’s and Elias’s ventures being interrupted this year.  The thought made Root smirk as she wandered the halls of the castle.  

Root didn’t know how long she’d been walking, nor did she really notice where she was, until she stopped suddenly, and found herself facing the closed doors of the Library.  She stared at them for a moment, frozen.  The last time she’d been this close to these doors was the last time she’d seen Hanna.  It had been nearly two years and still Root could feel tremors starting to run through her body.  She forced them down and focused on something else.  There seemed to be a haze of blue light bleeding out from under the doors.  The same light that had been haunting Root’s dreams all year.  But Root knew she wasn’t dreaming right now.  So what was this light doing here?

Root wondered if she could really ignore every instinct in her yelling at her to run now, and go back in the library to find out what the source of the light really was.  But she suddenly heard footsteps behind her.  

Before she could turn to see who it was, someone shouted a spell, a jet of red light slammed into her back, and everything went dark.  

****


	25. Debts to be Paid

“Are you sure they’re going to be okay?” Harold asked as he and John ran down yet another flight of stairs towards the dungeons.

“Don’t worry about Fusco,” John told him smoothly, pointing them down a hallway.  “Shaw’s with him.”

“That’s precisely what I’m worried about,” Harold muttered.  

But John didn’t hear him.  His attention was completely focused on the shouts coming from a classroom at the end of the hall.  John raced ahead of him, wand raised, and forced the door open.  Harold raced inside right behind him.

Harold didn’t know what he’d been expecting to find waiting for them in the classroom, but he certainly wasn’t prepared for the sight he found before him.  Carl Elias was indeed here, as were several other students he couldn’t name, but vaguely remembered seeing them associated with Elias.  What was suprised Harold most was the presence of Denton Weeks, standing a few feet from Elias with his wand drawn.  It looked like Elias and Weeks had been having some sort of argument that had the potential to turn violent, as Anthony Marconi stood stoically between the two boys.  

Their argument stopped the moment Harold and John burst into the room, though, as all eyes turned to the intruders.  Elias was, of course, the first to recover.   “Hello John,” he said warmly.  “And Harold, nice to see you.  What are you boys doing down here this time of evening?  I must admit, I wasn’t expecting to see you until tomorrow.”

“We were on our way back from a Potions study session,” John replied evenly.  “Heard the shouting.  Is everything alright here?”

Elias looked completely unconvinced by John’s weak explanation, but he responded in his same friendly tone.  “Denton and I were merely having a chat,” he told them calmly.  “Nothing to be concerned about.”

“A chat?” Denton Weeks spat viciously.  “I didn’t come here for a chat, I came here for a fight.  I’m sick of waiting.  You took my gold months ago, and still you haven’t given me what I asked for.  ‘Keep a low profile,’ you said, ‘we have to wait for the right time,’ you said.  Well I’m done waiting, and now you have no more excuses.  He’s standing right there!” He shouted, furiously pointing at Harold.  

John stepped between the two of them on instinct, raising his wand slightly.  “What’s this about?”  He asked Elias.  

But Elias wasn’t listening to him.  He was looking at Denton with an almost disappointed expression on his face, “Are you saying you’d like to do this now?”

Denton nodded eagerly.  

Elias shook his head, “And here I had plans to entertain you two at my party tomorrow before we got down to this nasty business.  But,” he sighed, “Denton is a paying customer.  And this is what he wants.”  He nodded to Elias, apparently indicating that some decision had been made.  “If you would, Anthony.”

Immediately, the Hufflepuff boy raised his wand and Harold felt his own wand fly out of his hand before he could understand what was happening.  John apparently processed the situation a bit more quickly, as he shot a stunning spell that Anthony easily dodged before disarming John as well.  Anthony caught both wands easily and handed them to Elias.  

Elias took the wands, and nodded to the other students in the classroom, who immediately began placing spells around all the doors in the room.  “We can start in just a few minutes, Denton.”

“Elias, what is this about?” John asked through gritted teeth.  

“Oh yes,” Elias looked at the two of them as though he’d just now realized how lost they were in these proceedings.  “I’m quite sorry for the inconvenience, gentlemen, but Denton here has paid me to organize a little duel between himself and Harold.”  

Harold felt his knees go weak, “A duel?” He repeated anxiously, shooting a quick glance at John, who looked just as unhappy with this announcement.  They both knew that Harold was not good at combative magic.  Unlike most other forms of magic--which he excelled at--the harshness and speed of dueling magic wasn’t a strong point of Harold’s skill set.  This fact had never worried him, until now.  He glanced over at Denton Weeks, who was standing in a corner, his own wand held loosely at his side, a smug grin on his face.  

John, meanwhile, was glowering at Elias.  “So I take it you’re the one who’s been coordinating after hours duels between students this year?” He asked.

Elias nodded, not even bothering to dodge the accusation.  “Yes, and I’m starting to wonder if you and Harold here might be behind all of the little interruptions to my business practices this year.  Well, not just mine,” he added as an afterthought.  “From what I hear, you’ve been interfering even more in Simmons’s network than you have in mine.”  He was watching John carefully, looking for any sign of surprise at the revelation of his captain’s true nature.  He nodded in something similar to approval when he saw none.  

One of Elias’s people signalled to him that the barriers around the doors had been set up.  Elias nodded in thanks.  “Well, let’s get on with it, shall we?”  He held Harold’s wand out to him.  

But Harold was still in too much of a state of shock to take it.  He just stood there, staring at it.  

Elias raised his eyebrows.  “Would you prefer to duel without a wand?” He asked.

“N-no,” Harold said quickly, finally gathering himself enough to take hold of his wand.  He gripped it tightly, looking again at Denton.  They shared a few classes together, and though Harold knew his own grades were better by a small margin, he also knew that Denton was no stranger to casting malicious spells.  For over a year, he’d wondered if Denton had been the one to curse him in the hall one day, leaving him with his limp.  

“Why are you doing this, Denton?” He asked as calmly as he could as Elias backed away from him, and Anthony, with his wand pointed firmly at John, also moved himself and John away from the duelers.  

“Why?” Denton repeated, astonished.  “Why wouldn’t I, Finch?  After all the trouble I went to last year, getting that Root girl to curse you, to have you walk away with that with barely a scratch and go right back to beating me at everything?  I couldn’t let you do that to me again, Finch, I couldn’t let you think you’d won.  So now I’ve got you in a position where I know I’ll win,” he finished with that self satisfied grin.  

Harold’s mind was racing to understand everything he’d just heard.  This whole situation was about grades?  And how his were barely better than Denton’s?  He’d known that Weeks was competitive.  But this?  This was borderline deranged.  And Weeks had been behind the attack on him, but he hadn’t been the one to cast the spell.  Apparently it had been some girl named Root.  

“Denton please,” Harold continued, trying his best to reason with the other boy.  “We can talk about this.”

Weeks just laughed.  “I’ve got nothing to say to you, Finch,” he snarled, raising his wand.  

Harold closed his eyes, ready to raise a shield charm, but still bracing himself for the impact of a spell.  When suddenly he heard John’s calm voice speaking quite loudly.  “Stop!” He demanded.  

Even though John had no real authority in this situation, everyone listened to him anyways.  There was some quiet danger in his words as he turned to Elias, a cold fire burning in his eyes.  “I saved your life,” he told the older Ravenclaw simply.  

Elias nodded slowly, “Yes, you did.”

“That means you owe me,” John stated.  

Elias thought for a moment.  “I do,” he agreed.

“Then stop this,” John ordered, looking Elias right in the eye.  “Now.”

Elias shrugged, “I’m afraid I can’t do that, John.  As I’ve already told you, Denton paid for a duel.”

John looked from Elias to Denton, and back, a small smirk suddenly on his lips.  “Fine,” he said shortly.  “Then he can duel me.”


	26. The Forest

“Where exactly are we going?”  Fusco huffed, lagging a few paces behind Shaw as they made their way back towards the library.  

“The library,” Shaw told him shortly.  

“Right, right,” Fusco said quickly.  He was quiet for a few moments, then, “And why are we going there?”

“Because someone’s in trouble,” Shaw replied, doing her best to avoid thinking about just what kind of trouble Root had gotten herself into.  Shaw knew there was more to the strange girl than met the eye.  She invented lightning spells after hours for _fun_.  Honestly, Shaw wouldn’t be surprised if the danger she was in was nothing more than one of her spells backfiring.  Except she couldn’t shake the memory of the anxious look that had sprung on Root’s face when Shaw had suggested the other girl practice in the library, or the way Root had firmly declared her dislike of that section of the castle.  Now Root’s name had appeared right outside the very place she disliked.

Shaw wasn’t _worried_ , but she was maybe a little curious to see what was so terrible to Root about the library.  

They rounded the last corner, and walked right up to the library doors, looking around.  But there was no one there.  Curious, Shaw opened the library doors and peeked in.  It didn’t look like anyone was in there, either.  She furrowed her brow.  “But her name was here,” she muttered, pulling the map out of her pocket, suddenly glad that John had decided to let her take it.

“What’s that?” Fusco asked, leaning over her shoulder to read it.  

But Shaw knocked him away.  “Do you always ask this many questions?” She snarled.

“Depends,” Fusco shot back.  “Are _you_ always this charming?”

Shaw huffed and rolled her eyes and opened up the map, being careful to keep it positioned so Fusco couldn’t read it.  If the boys had elected not to illuminate the prefect on the real source of their intel, Shaw had no intention of doing so herself.  Not that she even understood the magic that went into this thing anyways.  All she knew was it gave her names to protect and people to curse and that was good enough for her.  

She looked at the library on the map, and found the hallway they were in to be completely blank.  Shaw felt something uncomfortable twist in her stomach as she suddenly wondered if they were too late.  Whatever trouble Root had gotten herself into had caught up with her before Shaw had, and now there was nothing she could do.  Just like Carter...

No, wait.  Shaw adjusted the map, looking not at the castle, but the grounds beyond the walls.  There, right on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, was not one but two names.  Names that told Shaw exactly what kind of trouble Root had gotten herself into.

_Samantha Groves_ was written just above _Patrick Simmons_.

Again, there was no time given with the names.  

Shaw cursed and stowed the map back in her pocket.  She turned to Fusco, “We’ve got to move.”  She didn’t wait for him to catch up before she took off sprinting down the hall.  She didn’t bother to look back to see if he was following as she ducked behind a tapestry to take the secret staircase down to the first floor.  Honestly she was somewhat surprised to hear him gasping somewhere behind her as she opened the passage underneath the statue of Merlin and ran through the tunnel to the grounds.  She did wait for him at the end of the tunnel, but that was more for her to pull out the map and double check where she was going than for her to actually wait for him.  

Still, he arrived at her side shortly, gasping for breath, hands on his knees.  “Okay, Terror Twin,” He said between gasps.  “What are we doing out here?”

Shaw was squinting in the darkness at the treeline, looking for the section of forest that they needed.  She felt a grim grin rise to her lips when she spotted the telltale glow of wandlight through the trees a few yards down from where they were.  “We’re going into the Forbidden Forest, Fusco,” she told the prefect, probably enjoying the surprise and fear on his face more than she should.  “We’re going to go save two idiots who probably don’t deserve it.”  

Fusco’s attempt at seeking clarification was interrupted as a pained scream echoed over the grounds.  Shaw felt her jaw clench as she realized that the scream was Root’s.  “Come on,” she said, ignoring Fusco’s scared and concerned expression.  But this time as they ran, he managed to keep her pace.  

They tore into the undergrowth of the forest, heading directly for the wandlight.  But Shaw held up her hand for them to slow as they got closer.  A stealthier approach was probably the best move right now.  After all, they really didn’t know what they were getting themselves into.  After walking a few more yards in crouched quiet, they were finally able to see what was happening in a small clearing filled with students.  

Shaw counted fifteen of them standing around with their wands lit.  Patrick Simmons was among them, his wand the only without a glowing tip.  Shaw quickly found out why, as he shouted a spell and another scream tore through the night air.  Someone in the crowd shifted, allowing Shaw to finally glimpse the source of the screams.  

Root was lying on the forest floor, her arms and legs bound with a black rope that Shaw was sure was enchanted.  She was writhing under the effects of Simmons’s spell, screaming like her whole body was on fire.  When he finally stopped the spell she lie there, panting and trembling.  Shaw wondered how many rounds of this torture they’d put her through already.  

Lowering his wand, Simmons walked up to Root, looking down at her unsympathetically.  “You ready to talk yet?” He asked calmly.  When Root didn’t answer immediately, he kicked her in the stomach.  “Come on tough girl, what happened to all your spunk?” He sneered gloatingly.  “Do you still think I’m ‘done’?”

Fury was burning under Shaw’s skin.  She’d always known Simmons was a bully.  He’d had a knack for picking on the weakest players on their team, calling out the worst aspects of their opponents and capitalizing on it with a smug superiority.  But this, watching him kick someone while they’re powerless to do anything, torturing and tormenting Root just because apparently she’d annoyed him, this was low even for him.  Without thinking, she took a step forward.

Then she felt a hand on her shoulder as Fusco held her back.  “Woah there, Wonder Girl,” he said quietly.  “I don’t like this any better than you, but there’s no way we can take out all fifteen of those guys and get the girl out safely.”

Shaw jerked her arm from his grip.  “You’re saying you just want to stand here and watch?” She hissed.  

Fusco shook his head, indignant at the very idea, “I’m saying we wait for the right moment.  Catch them off guard.  Then you go in, spells ablazing, and I’ll get the girl out of here.”

“So we can’t take on fifteen together, but you want me to take all of them on myself,” Shaw said, hoping that this clarification would help Fusco realize how stupid he sounded.  

Fusco raised his eyebrows, “Have you seen yourself, Shorty?” He asked.  “You’re terrifying.  If you catch these guys with their pants down, you’ll have at least four of them racing back to the castle before the rest even know what’s happening.  I don’t think we can take all of them, but I think you can scare them long enough for us to get in and out quickly.”

Shaw clenched and unclenched her hands, thinking.  It was a good plan, though she’d never admit it.  She looked again at all the people surrounding Simmons and Root.  As good as she was with her wand, she didn’t know if she could take them all out without risking getting hit by a spell herself.  But while they’re waiting for the “right moment” what will Simmons do to Root?

Shaw reminded herself that Simmons was asking Root something.  Something he wanted to know, that Root hadn’t told him yet.  This wasn’t just sadistic fun, it was an interrogation.  They wouldn’t kill her, not yet.  They wouldn’t risk it until they had the answer they wanted.  She took  a deep breath.  “Fine,” she told Fusco, taking a step back, eyes trained on the clearing.

Root would just have to last until the right moment.


	27. A Duel

Elias was looking at John with a mild interest.  “You want to duel Denton instead?” He asked calmly.  

John nodded, “I stand a better chance than Harold.”

Denton was looking quickly between the two of them, “No!  He can’t do that!”

“You said he payed for a duel,” John pointed out, ignoring Denton completely.  “Does the contract specify who his opponent needs to be?  Or just that Harold needs to be here?”

Elias was smiling now, apparently impressed with John’s ability to exploit this loophole.  He looked at Anthony, “Do our contracts demand that Harold be the opponent?”

Anthony looked almost as amused as his friend, “I don’t think so, boss.”

Elias smiled, “Very well, John.  You can take Harold’s place.  But Harold does have to stay in this room with everyone else.”

“Fine,” John said shortly, just eager to get Harold out of harm’s way, and maybe teach Denton Weeks a lesson while he was at it.  

Weeks’s face had gone extremely white.  “W-what?” He stuttered, taking a few involuntary steps back.  “He can’t- you can’t-”

“I can, actually,” Elias told him calmly, gesturing for Harold to step back from the two duelers.  “And Denton, for future reference, if you want me to watch out for you, try to avoid threatening to jinx me just because my timetable’s a little different than yours.”  

So that was it, John thought to himself as Elias handed him his wand back.  He’d thought Elias had agreed to his deal a bit too easily.  But apparently the argument between Weeks and Elias had been more intense than they’d led to believe.  It must have been Weeks’s threat to jinx Elias that had prompted the map to give them a name.  Briefly, John wondered if he was being used by Elias.  Perhaps the Ravenclaw boy wanted to show Weeks what happens when you threaten him, and John was just a useful tool, here to deal out a beating.  

Then John remembered the look of absolute glee on Weeks’s face at the thought of dueling a trapped Harold, and he found he didn’t really care.  He gripped his wand gratefully, and started sorting through his mental list of curses and jinxes that he could use against this coward.  He felt himself grinning as Elias’s boys raised one final shield charm, encasing himself and Denton together while protecting the spectators.  It had been a while since he’d had a proper duel, maybe this would be good for him.  Help him work out some of his pent up frustration.  

Denton was looking at John with something quite like terror.  Then he shook his head, apparently accepting the situation and steeling himself for what was about to come.  Without any warning, he slashed his wand furiously at John.  

John raised a shield charm easily to block the curse before shouting a spell of his own.  Denton barely managed to raise his own shield before John’s spell blasted through it.  He jumped to one side and sent three Stunning Spells shooting towards John.  

John’s shield blocked two of the spells but he had to duck as Denton’s third spell crashed through his shield.  John told himself he shouldn’t be as surprised as he was.  Denton was nearly top of the class, after all.  It made sense that his spells were actually powerful.  He shot a Jelly Legs Jinx at the Slytherin boy, and this time, Denton didn’t get his shield up in time.  The spell slammed into him and his knees immediately went weak, his legs wobbling, struggling to hold him upright.  

But Weeks wasn’t going to go down without a fight.  He snarled the counterjinx, regaining control over his legs just before he shouted yet another spell.  John managed to duck around the jet of red light aimed at him.  He looked up, sending another hex towards Weeks, but the act left him open to Weeks’s second spell, which crashed into him.  

Instantly, John felt himself being lifted into the air by his leg.  As he struggled uselessly to right himself, he heard Weeks laughing below him.  “Look at you, Reese,” sneered the other boy. “You think you’re so tough and scary, but with just a few spells, I’ve got you strung up like a pinata.”  He pointed his wand deliberately.  “This might even be better than cursing Harold.”

He raised his wand, but was hit suddenly by the Full Body Bind Curse John aimed at him.  Apparently Denton hadn’t realized that just because John was upside down didn’t mean he couldn’t shoot a spell.  Weeks’s limbs snapped together, and he fell--hard--to the ground.  John floated in the air for a few more moments before Weeks’s spell wore off, dropping him down.  Then he stalked over to Weeks, wand raised.  He was going to make sure Denton knew to never mess with them again.

“John, stop,” said a voice in the back of his mind suddenly.  “John blinked and suddenly Carter was there, standing next to him, staring down at the immobile Weeks.  You’ve won,” she told him.

He knew she wasn’t there.  She was gone, because of people like Weeks.  She was dead, and nothing he could do would ever change that.  He gripped his wand tightly.

“Don’t become like him,” Carter told him softly, sadly.  “You’re better than these guys.  You know it.  You helped Harold, Denton won’t bother him anymore.  Now it’s time to put a stop to this, all of this.”

John glanced over at his friend, noticing how anxious Harold looked.  Almost scared.  John had known that Harold had never had much of a stomach for combative magic, he hadn’t expected a simple duel to unsettle Harold so much.  He lowered his wand almost without thinking.

He could almost feel Carter’s touch on his arm as she faded away, “You’ve got to protect people, that what you do.”

He took a deep breath.  As satisfying as it would be to jinx Weeks to the point of exhaustion, he couldn’t let himself sink to that level.  He looked at Elias, “We’re through here.”

Elias raised his eyebrows, apparently just as surprised as Harold was relieved, that John wasn’t going to continue the duel.  “Very well,” he said, motioning for his boys to lower their shields.  As they did, John walked back over to Elias, Harold, and Anthony.  He had something else he wanted to make clear.  Standing close enough to Elias to make sure the other boy knew he was purposefully invading his space, John spoke,  his voice low and dangerous, “No more duels.”

“I can’t just drop all of my paying customers, John,” Elias responded calmly, apparently unintimidated.  

“Then I suggest you offer them an alternative,” John said coolly.  “Because if I find out you’ve been doing this again, I’m going to tell Counsel, and Control, and you’ll be expelled and probably arrested.”

Elias smiled, “That’s a good threat, John.  But you and I both know you won’t follow through with it.  Because if you report me, I’ll be forced to report you.  And I’m sure the staff will be curious to know how you and Harold are so aware of all the dangerous goings on in the school.”

John glared at him, Elias had called his bluff.  Now he was tempted to follow through with his threat, just to wipe that smug grin off Elias’s face.  

Elias nodded before John could say anything.  “It seems we’ve reached an impasse, so I’ll make you another deal.  You don’t report me, and I won’t hold any more duels this year.   _And_ you’ll owe me a favor to be repaid whenever I see fit.” Elias held out his hand, “Deal?”

John looked at him suspiciously.  He didn’t like the sound of this undetermined ‘favor’ but then again, Elias was only going to be at the school for another few months.  And what kind of trouble could he cause with one favor?  Wasn’t it worth it to protect all those potential dueling victims?  Finally he nodded slowly and shook the other boy’s hand, “Deal.”

Elias smiled warmly, “A pleasure doing business with you, John.”

John threw Elias one last glare before allowing Harold to gently direct him out of the classroom.  

As soon as the door closed behind them, John muttered, “Even though we stopped Elias from being attacked, and probably discouraged Weeks’s insane feud against you, why do I feel like we just lost?”

“Carl Elias is possibly the cleverest Ravenclaw I’ve ever met,” Harold replied, still sounding slightly shocked from the whole ordeal.  “We should be glad that we’ve apparently fallen on his good side.  I just hope Miss Shaw’s mission fared better than ours.”

John chuckled as they made their way back through the dungeons.  His sister?  With Lionel?  In a potentially dangerous situation?  “I highly doubt that.”  


	28. Root's Answer

Root’s body was tingling.  The ropes around her wrists and ankles had rubbed her skin raw.  She felt like she’d been set on fire, doused in water, then electrocuted several times.  

After she’d been knocked out outside the library, she’d woken to find herself here.  Tied up and thrown onto the forest floor.  Simmons had asked her a question and she hadn’t answered quickly enough for him, so he’d cursed her.  Root had never experienced the Cruciatus Curse before, but she could understand why it was such an effective torture method.  Simmons was obviously inexperienced with it--her first Disillusionment Charm had hurt her worse when it had backfired on her in an empty Potions classroom--but that didn’t stop the screams that tore from her when Simmons turned his wand on her yet again.  

Her vision was starting to go black when he stopped and took a step towards her.  “I’ll give you this, kid.  You can take some pain.  But you don’t need to.  All you’ve got to do is tell me how you know what you know, and I’ll stop.”

“Let me talk to her,” one of the students surrounding them suddenly.  Root’s gaze snapped to him, curiously.  He looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him.

“You sure, Quinn?” Simmons asked.

That’s right, Root thought to herself.  Alonzo Quinn, she’d seen him in the Slytherin Common Room a few times over the years.  He was in Simmons’s year.  She was pretty sure he was a good student, but altogether rather unassuming.  A prefect, but not one of those outstanding goody-two-shoes sorts.  No one would give him a second glance throughout a regular day.  But she watched as Quinn nodded and Simmons immediately backed away, and she made the connection.  Despite her uncomfortable situation, Root had to fight down a smirk as this newcomer knelt down in front of her.  

“Listen Root,” he said, his voice cool and uncaring.  It didn’t matter to him whether she told them everything or remained silent.  He was just telling her the facts.  “My friend Simmons here really doesn’t like you.  Apparently in your time working with him, you’ve been rather rude.  He would be more than happy to spend the rest of the night like this, and he might get that wish.  But I’d prefer not to spend several hours standing around in the woods, listening to you screaming.  So, if you would kindly tell us how you know about our operations, we’d all appreciate it.  None of our boys have talked to you, but you still know our plans.  In fact, I think you’ve known for a while.  How do you do it?  Get your answers then Memory Charm them?  Hide in corridors while we hand out assignments?  If you tell us now, I’ll see what I can do to talk Simmons down.  Maybe he’ll let you leave tonight in one piece.  But only if you tell him what he wants to know.  Right.  Now.”

And now Root did smile.  Through the pain, through the humiliation, through the threats claiming that this endeavor was only just starting, Root smiled because she’d found her answer.  “I knew Simmons wasn’t smart enough to run this operation,” she said sweetly.  “Zoe’s going to be annoyed that I figured you out first.”  And with that, she reached down with her tied hands into to her boot, stretching down just far enough to reach her wand--idiots hadn’t even bothered to search her, as if she were stupid enough to wander the castle unarmed.  With a quick spell, she Vanished the ropes binding her, and stood rapidly to her feet.

“Hate to break it to you boys,” she told them, enjoying the looks of shock and surprise on the faces around her as they all took hurried steps back.  “But you’ve got the wrong girl.”  She brushed the dirt off of her arms casually, “I heard you thought I was behind the interference you’ve been encountering, and though I think I _do_ know who’s behind it, I’m afraid I can’t take credit for that.  But I did wonder if you might try to take action against me.  True, I didn’t expect you boys to work so fast, but I’m quick to adapt,” she added with a cheshire-like grin.  “And now your little _interrogation_ has finally told me what I wanted to know.

“I’ve got to admit, Quinn, that’s a clever move, running your organization through Simmons.  Gives you room for plausible deniability should you boys be caught.  That is,” she took great pride in the fury that was slowly overtaking Quinn’s face as she spoke.   “Unless someone were to discover your involvement.  I wonder what Professor Counsel would do to a prefect who’s been such a _terrible_ influence.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Quinn snarled.

“You have no idea what I’d dare,” Root told him, smirking.  “Do you happen to remember Trent Russell?” She asked abruptly.  “I know he was a few years older than you, but maybe you had a class together or something.”

“What does he have to do with anything?”  Quinn snapped.

“Do you remember what happened to him?”  Root prompted.  When Quinn didn’t say anything, she answered her own question, “He was in Knockturn Alley a few days before school started last year, and apparently he stole something from Borgin and Burkes.  Thing is, there was a dangerous Dark Wizard who was very interested in what Trent stole, and he took it back in a rather violent way.”  She couldn’t quite fight down the satisfaction in her voice as she added, “I hear his funeral was very nice, though open casket wasn’t quite an option, with so few pieces left of him.”

She watched with amusement as Quinn realized that Root was claiming the attack on Russell as her own work.  He didn’t know how, but she’d coordinated Trent’s death, without leaving the slightest trail of evidence to imply it had been anything more than an accident.  And now she was standing confidently in front of them, wand in hand, after they’d kidnapped and tortured her.  For the first time, Quinn seemed to truly understand the situation, and for just a second, Root saw fear flash in his eyes.  

Good.

“You thought I was a threat?” She chuckled.  “I’m more than a threat.  I’m a danger.  When you look at me, you shouldn’t feel threatened, you shouldn’t be intimidated.  You should be _terrified_.  Because now that I know who you all are, I’m going to _destroy_ you.”

Simmons couldn’t take it anymore.  Her words pushed him over the edge, as she’d known they would.  He slashed his wand down with a vicious curse, which she dodged, but only barely, making sure to look like she’d been caught off guard.  There was still one theory left that she wanted to test tonight.  

“You sure like to run your mouth, kid,” Simmons sneered.  “But I think you forgot something.  We’ve still got you way outnumbered.”

Root heard a twig snap behind her, and knew she was right.  She grinned viciously at Simmons, “Maybe not as outnumbered as you think.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Sameen Shaw and Lionel Fusco came barrelling into the clearing, stunning spells shooting from their wands.  Three of Simmons’s boys went down before any of them processed the fact that they were under attack.  Finally they grabbed their wands and suddenly spells were flying everywhere.  

“You took your time getting over here, Shaw,” Root commented, dodging a curse aimed right at her head.  “Did you get lost?”

“What the hell- you _knew_ we were going to be here?” Shaw demanded, nailing one of the Ravenclaw boys in the chest with a Stunning Spell.  

“I had a hunch,” Root admitted, grinning widely as she too took down another attacker.  

“Hey ladies, I get that you might want to catch up,” Fusco interrupted from the other side of the clearing.  “But could we have more magic and less chatting right now?”

Root raised her eyebrows at Shaw, who scowled, “I had to bring him.”

“I see,” Root said, amused.  But she took Fusco’s comment to heart as she concentrated for a moment before saying to Shaw, “Then I’d grab him and duck if I were you.  I think I can control this, but it’s still a new spell.”

Shaw looked at her in confusion for a second, then something clicked in her head and she raced towards Fusco, grabbing him and throwing them both to the ground.  The instant Root saw that they were down, she concentrated, summoning up a spell that she’d only used a few times before.  Lightning laced with red magic arced out of her wand with a satisfying crackle as she spun around in a tight circle.  Root focused on directing the bolts only towards those who had attacked her, not Shaw or Fusco.  It was tricky, but she managed to reign the tasing spell back.  In a few short seconds, she lowered her wand, now the only person standing in the clearing.  

Shaw stood up and brushed herself off, looking at the mass of unconscious bodies that Root had produced so effectively.  “Okay,” she admitted, almost reluctantly.  “That was kinda hot.”

The complement prompted a smile from Root, and a look of astonishment from from Fusco, who huffed over next to them.  “You two chicks are crazy,” he announced, looking between them, then at the mess around them.  

Root focused her smile on him, “Hello Fusco, I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced yet.  You can call me Root.  Thanks for tagging along with Shaw to come rescue me.  She needs someone around to keep her out of trouble.”

Fusco looked her up and down skeptically, “Sure, Cocoa Puffs, whatever you say.”  He sighed, “Are these guys gonna be out long enough for me to run in for some teachers?”

Root shrugged, “I don’t know, this was my first time electrocuting that many people.”

Fusco ignored the implication that Root had electrocuted a smaller group of people before, and addressed Shaw instead, “Can you watch these guys to make sure no one gets away while I grab a teacher?”  Shaw nodded grimly, and after a second he added, “And if they wake up, just _stun_ them, alright?  We don’t need any more trips to the hospital wing this year.”

“I can’t make that kind of promise, Fusco,” Shaw replied coolly.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Fusco muttered.  “Alright, I’ll get back here as quick as I can and I just hope you two don’t kill anyone while I’m gone.”  One last glance at Root proved how real he considered that possibility to be.  She took the thought as a complement and gave the Hufflepuff prefect a little wave as he headed back towards the castle.  

“And thank _you_ for the rescue,” Root said sweetly, as Shaw came up to stand next to her.  

Shaw glared.  “It _wasn’t_ a rescue,” she asserted sternly.  

“Sure looked like it,” Root continued playfully.  “I know you and Mister Prefect were back there for a while, but you didn’t show yourselves until it looked like Simmons was gonna get me.  Admit it, Shaw, you were worried about me.”

“Worried?” Shaw repeated with more than a little hostility.  “You wish, Root.  You know Fusco wants to drag your ass to Counsel, too, over what you did to that Russell guy?  Did you seriously get him killed?”  

Root chose to ignore that question, though she couldn’t force down her smirk.  “Oh that reminds me,” she said instead, waving her wand over the heads of Simmons’s and Quinn’s boys, along with the leaders themselves.  “Quick memory charm,” she explained when Shaw looked at her questioningly.  “No one’s really supposed to know about Trent.  Anonymity is part of the trade.  I figured it was a good story to tell for effect, but I never wanted anyone to walk away from tonight knowing that,” she glanced over at Shaw.

Shaw raised her wand menacingly, “Try anything with my memories and I’ll curse your pants off.”

Root raised her eyebrows, “Wow, Shaw.  Normally a girl would like a date first, before talk like that.”

“Root,” Shaw growled.  

“Don’t worry, Shaw.  I wouldn’t dream of altering your memories.”  She winked, “It’ll be our little secret.”  

Shaw looked like she was seriously debating cursing Root anyways.  Root knew she would go through with it if she decided to.  Besides, Fusco would likely be back with teachers soon.  That meant it was time for her to disappear.  “When all the teachers come back, this is what you’re going to tell them.  At your last practice with him, Laskey told you something that made you suspicious about Simmons.  So when Fusco was escorting you back from the library--you didn’t realize how late it was while you were studying but you didn’t want to get in trouble for being out after hours--and you saw him sneaking out of the castle after curfew, you convinced Fusco to come with you to investigate.  What you found was Simmons and Quinn arguing over who’s going to take control of their practices here, which are completely against school rules.  A fight broke out between the two groups, and eventually only a few were left standing.  That’s when you and Fusco came out of hiding and incapacitated them, before Fusco went off to get the teachers.”

Shaw looked at her incredulously, “And why would I tell them that bullshit?”

“That’s the memory I just implanted in all their minds,” Root explained simply.

“That’s not what Fusco’s going to tell them on the way down here,” Shaw warned.

“I may have tweaked his memory, too,” she admitted, smirking.  “That spell has quite a range if you cast it right.”  She started walking for the treeline, “And I conveniently removed myself from all of those memories.  So I should probably disappear before they arrive, otherwise things might get awkward to explain.”  She waved over her shoulder as she entered the trees, “Have a nice night, Shaw."


	29. Safe

It was unusual for Harold to do his studying in a location other than the library or the Ravenclaw Common Room, but neither of those locations were especially conducive to practicing spellwork.  That’s how he came to find himself in an empty Charms classroom one afternoon in late Winter, working on his Summoning Charm.  O.W.L.s were set to start at the end of the month, and Harold was in his second week of preparatory review.  

His Summoning Charm was almost perfect, but he couldn’t ignore the slight veer to the left in the flight path of a few of his practice casts.  He caught the practice pillow he was working with--arriving to him just the tiniest bit off center--when he heard the door open.

“I’m sorry, this room is occupied-” The words died in his throat when he recognized John in the doorway.  “Oh, hello John.  What are you doing here?  Shouldn’t you be getting ready?  I thought you had a match this evening.”

“We do,” John said him calmly, sitting down in one of the empty chairs.  “I’ll head down there soon.  But I’m not worried about it.  That Hersh is a good Chaser.  Honestly I wonder why they let Simmons on the team if this guy was in the house.  I wouldn’t be surprised if Greer makes  _ him _ captain for next year.”

“Are you saying you’re not going to request they make your temporary captainship permanent?” Harold asked in mock surprise.  

John had already voiced his dislike of the position several times.  He was good at the sport, but he preferred being just a team member, rather than a decision maker.  “You and your map are more than enough to keep me occupied, Harold,” he said.  

“Not as much, these days,” Harold replied.  And it was true.  Since their eventful night a few weeks ago, the school had become much quieter.  Elias had proved true to his word.  There had been no more late night duels coordinated by him.  

Shaw and Fusco’s excursion into the Forbidden Forest had proved equally as effective.  Simmons and Quinn, along with most of the students they’d enticed to join their criminal activities, had been unceremoniously expelled from the school for “student endangerment”.  Unwilling to garner any more bad press, Professor Counsel had declared that the danger had come from holding their meetings in the Forbidden Forest.  So in the eyes of the law, all of the attacks throughout the school year--including the attack on Carter--were still considered accidents.  That didn’t change the fact that the Ministry had finally taken note of how many incidents and expulsions had occurred just in this school year alone.  Nothing official had been announced yet, but everyone knew that this was Professor Counsel’s last year as headmaster.

“We still keep busy,” John said.  Again, this was true.  Though the workload provided by the map had decreased significantly, there were still random magical backfires and the occasional lone attacker left in the school to pose danger to the students.  Harold had become quite adept at stepping into first year classrooms with a question for a professor, only to prevent a first year from blowing themselves up by adjusting their wand grip or ennunciation.  “And it looks like you’ve been  _ really _ busy, Harold,” John added, gesturing to the classroom.

Harold shrugged.  “Have you started your studying yet?” He asked, already knowing the answer.  

John smirked, “Nah, I was planning on just cracking open a book the night before the test, making sure I remember how to read and everything.”

“Indeed,” Harold commented dryly.  He knew John was only pulling his leg, but he couldn’t ignore the shudder that passed through him at the thought of such haphazard studying.  “Well, should you change your mind and decide you’d actually  _ like _ to continue to your sixth year, you’re more than welcome to join my study sessions.”

“That’s very kind of you,” John told him.  

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”  

John and Harold both jumped slightly at the amused voice, looking up to see a girl closing the door behind her.  “I’m sorry,” Harold said quickly.  “But we’re using this classroom to study right now.”

The girl raised her eyebrows at the complete lack of textbooks and parchment in the room, along with Harold’s practice pillow, sitting uselessly on a desk.  “So I see,” she replied.  “But don’t worry, I’m not going to be here long.  I just saw you two in here and thought I’d stop by to say thank you for sending Shaw my way when I was in a tight spot a while ago.”

Harold shot a quick glance at John.  “Are you Samantha Groves?” He asked this strange girl.  

Both he and John had asked Shaw several times to point out the girl she’d rescued the night they’d split up to deal with Elias.  Shaw, for some stubborn reason, had refused to do so, and the one time John had brought up the night to Fusco, the other boy had claimed he hadn’t even seen John that night, much less some mysterious girl.  

The girl nodded, though she crinkled her nose distastefully at the sound of her name.  “You can call me Root.”

Harold felt himself tense up at the sound of her introduction.  John was on his feet in a second, positioning himself between Harold and Root.  John pulled out his wand and held it loosely in his hand, glaring at her.  “You’re the one who attacked Harold.”  It was a statement, not a question, and John’s tone made it clear how unwelcome the girl was here.

Root didn’t reach for her own wand.  She barely spared John’s a glance.  She just nodded, “I wondered if Denton might have told you about that when you boys had your little run in with him and Elias. That’s another thing I wanted to thank you for, actually.  You humiliated him so thoroughly during your duel that now I don’t have to go and curse him for implying that my work was less than satisfactory.  I still might, though,” she added thoughtfully.  “He’s always struck me as the type of person who could do with a few extra curses.”  

“Go near Weeks and I’ll report you,” John snarled, looking like he very seriously wanted to do something worse than report Root right now.  

“Really?” Root said, taking a step forward and noting how John refused to back away.  “Is that the big scary threat you used to get Elias to stop his duel business?” She asked conspiratorially.  “Of course not, Elias is too good to fall for a simple threat like that.  Still, that’s a big money market for him.  He must really want you boys to like him if he’s willing to drop it for you.  I’m sure you’ll all be best friends come this time next year.”

“Elias won’t be here next year,” Harold said coldly, speaking up for the first time since Root had revealed her identity.  “He’s a seventh year.  He’s done with school in a few weeks.”

Root smiled amusedly at them both.  “If you say so,” she said with an obvious air of knowing something they didn’t.  

“Is there anything else you wanted, Miss Groves?” Harold asked with forced politeness.  He wanted her to leave.  He wanted to never have to deal with her again.  She was confident now because everyone in this room knew that they couldn’t report her for an attack she’d supposedly committed over a year ago.  But that didn’t mean he was comfortable standing so close to someone who had caused him so much pain.  

“Yes, actually,” Root replied with another smile.  “You see, when you sent your friend Shaw out to deal with Simmons--thank you again for doing that, he deserved it after what he ordered done to Carter-” Harold winced as he watched the pain flash through John at such a casual mention of Carter’s death.  “-you cemented a theory I’ve been building over the past year.  So I have one last question before I leave you boys to your ‘studies’.  What is it?”

Harold looked at her curiously, “What is what?”

“Your prediction spell,” she said, her eyes lighting up with fascination.  “Something that powerful needs a physical manifestation, especially in order to be able to communicate with you, tell you where the danger is.  So, what is it?  What did you decide to use to house the most powerful spell in the world?”

Harold fought down the urge to share another glance with John.  “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about, Miss Groves.” 

Root clearly didn’t believe this, but Harold kept his face impassive, and eventually she just sighed.  “You’re going to wish you told me, Harry,” she told him sadly.  “But I can guess we’re done for now.  I’ll see you around, boys.”  She turned and left the classroom, closing the door softly behind her.  

Harold waited a few moments to be sure that Root had left before turning to John.  He was sure his own face mirrored the astonished expression on John’s.  “Harold,” John said slowly.  “How does she know about the book?”

“I’m not sure,” Harold replied, thinking hard.  “And as far as I can tell, she  _ doesn’t _ know it’s a book.  Just that the spell exists, and has been implemented.”

“Which is more than we want someone like her knowing,” John reminded him.

Harold nodded, thinking hard.  “I wonder...”

“What is it?” John asked quickly.  

Harold was frowning.  “That night when the map warned us about Elias and Miss Groves, a few pages of my notes on the Book fell out of my bag as we were leaving the library.  They were preliminary notes, mostly just theory.  I don’t need them anymore, and I assumed someone would have just thrown them away.  To anyone without any knowledge of the Book, they’d be mostly gibberish.  But now...”

“You think maybe she found your notes,” John finished for him.

“Indeed,” Harold nodded.  The idea made him extremely uncomfortable.  He didn’t like the idea of Root learning anything more about the Book than she’d already deduced.  He didn’t know what her interest in his project was, but the thought of Root possessing his notes and knowing exactly what they referred to struck him as very bad.  “We’re going to need to keep a careful eye on Miss Groves,” he said.  

“Agreed,” John nodded, still glaring at the door that had long since closed behind Root.  Then he shook himself.  “I should probably get going,” he said with a glance down at his watch.  “Match starts in twenty minutes.”

“So the impromptu captain is going to be the last one there,” Harold commented dryly.  

“Shaw’s gonna kill me,” John said with a grin.  “You coming to watch?”

Harold thought for a moment.  He’d had this evening scheduled out for Summoning and Banishing Charms, but then again, this  _ was _ the last Quidditch match of the school year.  He shrugged, he could study tomorrow, “Of course.” 

John grinned, “Then I’ll see you after the game.”

“Good luck, John,” Harold told his friend as he bolted out the door.  He began packing up his things, chuckling to himself.  It had been a big year, a dangerous year, and the strangest year of his life.  But he’d regained an old friend, and found some new ones, too.  They’d lost someone, but saved many.  This Root was a wild card, but he was sure that they would be able to deal with her, just as they’d done Elias and Simmons.  

Before he left the classroom, Harold pulled out the map and checked it over.  No blue ink, no names, no danger.

For now, everyone was safe.  


	30. Epilogue

Professor Greer was smiling as he sat in his office.  The Gryffindor Quidditch team had won the match against Hufflepuff earlier that evening, and he knew his house was currently celebrating rambunctiously in their Common Room, passing the cup from hand to hand as everyone celebrated.  He was proud of his team.  John Reese hadn’t asked to be captain--and he’d made it clear that his appointment was temporary when Greer had asked him to take over after Simmons had been expelled--but he’d handled the team well and led them to victory.  

The rest of the school was quiet while Gryffindor celebrated.  Greer couldn’t remember the last sound he’d heard from outside his office when suddenly there came a knock on his door.  “Yes?”

The door opened, “Professor Greer?”  Peter Collier, Hufflepuff fourth year, poked his head through the door.  

Greer smiled warmly at him, “Ah, hello Peter.  Please, come in.  What can I do for you?”

“I have what you asked for,” Collier said, holding a few pages of parchment in his hand.  

Greer recognized the script of Harold Finch on them immediately.  “Excellent, thank you Peter.”  He held out his hand for the pages.  He’d overheard the boy talking in class the other day about some strange papers he’d found left in the library.  When he’d heard Collier’s description of the notes on the pages, Greer could hardly believe his luck.  After class, he’d quietly pulled Collier aside and offered him a deal.  

Peter hesitated for a second.  “This’ll get rid of my detentions for the rest of the year?  No more after hours with Control?”  

Greer smiled warmly, “I think I’ll be able to talk her out of it.”

Peter nodded.  “Okay, here you go then,” He handed over the papers.  “I couldn’t make any sense of them, though, Professor.”

“That’s quite alright, Peter,” Greer told him.  He wouldn’t expect a mediocre student like Collier to understand the complex concepts that Harold Finch had hopefully gone over in these notes.  He took the pages from Collier greedily, his eyes already scanning them.  He read for a few seconds before realizing that Collier was still standing there, waiting awkwardly to be dismissed.

“Thank you, Peter,” he said quickly.  “You can go now.”

Collier grinned, “Thanks Professor.”  And he quickly left the office, closing the door behind him and letting out a sigh of relief.  He’d never really liked Professor Greer, but when the DADA teacher had told him that he could get Professor Control to end his detentions early, in exchange for some random papers he’d found in the library, he’d jumped on the opportunity.  Briefly, he wondered what Greer was going to do with some useless notes, then he shrugged.  “Not my problem,” he told himself, heading back towards his Common Room.  

From behind a hidden door, Root heard him pass by.  She poked her head out into the hall after he turned the corner, wondering exactly  _ what _ wasn’t his problem.  She was debating going after him and seeing what he was up to, when she felt a pull.  The same pull that she’d been feeling all day.  She didn’t know where it was coming from, she couldn’t name it, but  _ something _ was drawing her somewhere.  And she didn’t know how she knew, but she knew it was very important.  

So she allowed Peter Collier to drift from her mind as she followed the pull inside her.  She wondered if she was being subjected to a low power Summoning Charm, if something or someone was drawing her towards a particular place.  Whatever the case, she was very curious to see whoever was calling to her.  

She was barely paying attention to  _ where _ she was going until she suddenly found herself standing once more in front of the library doors.  The stark dread that normally filled her stomach at the sight of this place was suddenly replaced with anticipation as she saw that same blue glow spilling out from under the doors, the brightest she’d ever seen it.  Root barely hesitated before letting herself in.  

She followed the glowing blue light to the Restricted Section, through the rows of books, to a particular volume she knew didn’t belong there.  Few people would notice this book--on a normal day when it wasn’t emitting a soft blue glow--but Root could tell immediately that it wasn’t a wizarding book.  The cover was obviously that of a Muggle novel, titled  _ The Machine _ .  

Root shook her head in wonder.  “Brilliant, Harold,” she said to no one.  Hiding such a powerful spell in a book gave it complete communication abilities, while granting it no other powers.  In theory, at least.  Apparently, however, the Book had developed enough power to cast a mild spell on Root in order to bring her here.

Hands trembling slightly with excitement, Root pulled the Book from the shelf and flipped it open.  At first it was blank.  But then, the light around the Book died, and in the darkness, glowing blue words wrote themselves onto the page.  

_ Can you read this? _

Root smiled like a traveller coming home for the first time and breathed, “Absolutely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone! That's it for this story. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! I have plans for a sequel, so keep an eye out for that sometime early next year!


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